


Auric Idolatry

by mcrshank



Series: Auric, Dark & Argent [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Crossover, Multi, Narnia, Narnia fanfiction, Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 62
Words: 353,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14141649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcrshank/pseuds/mcrshank
Summary: The war is over; winter has ended.The Pevensies have been crowned Kings and Queens of Narnia; finally allowed to enjoy their magical world the way the youngest Queen might have wished they had been able to from the beginning. It is here where they learn of the legends, the tales, the many chapters of the world's history; and it is here, by the surprise of an introduction to the eldest Narnian in existence (one, it is said, to have lived from the very second the world had been created), that the new royals realise more than one story told in their world might be true, for they stand face to face with Juliet Capulet, she who, once upon a classroom, they might have thought to be nothing but a fictional concoction made centuries prior.Thus begins the Golden Age of Narnia.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> **NOTE:** This story is based entirely on a tumblr role play plot concocted by Lloyd, who plays Edmund and I, who gives Juliet the love she deserves on my blog inbooks. 
> 
> **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all similarities to the book Juliet Immortal by Stacey Jay are done entirely on purpose, but it must be noted that my Juliet is not canon to those books, for I have taken the premise of the book ('the most famous love story in the world is a lie') and made it into the truth, thus having Juliet be killed by Romeo, unlike the book. For it, I have decided to change species names and details; but it is loud and clearly stated that the Juliet depicted here is entirely INSPIRED by Jay's book. Thank you for taking the time to read this story; I hope you enjoy!! Smile because you can! x
> 
> ~Mel

─ ♚ ─

_Concerned, she stood there, second row behind a few fauns with the newly welcome summer's breeze playing with her hair, observant of injustice as it came so wildly delivered by the lips of a white nightmare, mindless of the creatures around her yet completely aware of only the Lion standing tall even in his impossibly high stature for a creature such as he. "Tell you?" The witch said, making soft amber pools shift from their study of her beloved helper to look, instead, at the pale white creature so self-claiming of her frozen crown. "Tell you what is written on that very Table of Stone which stands beside us? Tell you what is written in letters deep as a spear is long on the fire-stones on the Secret Hill? Tell you what is engraved on the sceptre of the Emperor-beyond-the-sea?" Even the soft scoff breathed from her darkly smiling lips felt monstrous, and where seconds prior there had only been concern lighting Juliet Capulet's features, now there suddenly rested the mirror of loathing come from the vision of the Witch who had made of the land she loved nothing but an eternal winter that had killed her once before._

" _You at least know the Magic which the Emperor put into Narnia at the very beginning." The White Witch continued, making Juliet's jaw tense upon the mere mention of a time so magical as it had been the creation of Narnia itself, tainted by the nightmare's words, tainted by the monster's own memories._ Mention not a moment such as that, for thou hath no claim upon its deliverance. _"You know that every traitor belongs to me as my lawful prey," She resumed barely a second after her previous words. "And that for every treachery I have a right to kill, and—."_

" _Oh." Said Mr. Beaver, interrupting the flow of the witch's claims regardless of how her lips had parted to continue on her spoken trail. "So_ that's  _how you came to imagine yourself a Queen—because you were the Emperor's hangman, I see."_

" _Peace, Beaver." The Lion said, shifting of a soft growl as his big yellow eyes focused on the gentle creature he lightly scolded before looking towards the monster again._

_Pause enough to anger the White Witch further; enough to make of her following words an echo of desperation and anger, one huffed from pale lips as harshly as the many horrors done to the younger of the Pevensies, if any of it could be judged by the scars left behind, visible or not. "That human creature is mine." She spat, lifting a pointy finger onto the accusation of the forgiven boy. "His life is forfeit to me; his blood is my property."_

_The growl of the animals around them echoed through the camp, yet even then, the roar of a minotaur's voice came louder. "Come and take it, then." Threatening of a challenge by the sharpness of his tightly held blade._

" _Fool." The Witch said, breathing of a short amused scoff as the tips of her hair danced with her shaking head. "Do you really think your master can rob me of my rights by mere force?" She wondered, staring at the great minotaur as if he were not but a child begging a mother for more candy. "He knows the Deep Magic better than that," She continued. "He knows," Her eyes moved to look in the Lion's direction once again, speaking still to the creature who had offended her, but cursing of his spoken truth by staring the subject of whom she spoke right in the eye. "That unless I have blood as the law says, all of Narnia will be overturned and perish in fire and water."_

_The Lion's head bobbed in a short nod. "It is true; I do not deny it."_

" _Oh, Aslan." The oldest of the Pevensie girls said, turning to look at the Lion at her side and speaking with a note barely higher than a whisper; yet one well audible from the place where young Juliet rested. "Can't we—I mean, you won't, will you?" Susan asked. "Can't we do something about the Deep Magic? Isn't there something you can work against it?"_

_It should not be possible in such a feline face as that of Aslan's, but, somehow, believe it or not, the great Lion frowned. "Work against the Emperor's Magic?" He said, worried, disapproving and absolutely hiding none of it at all. At the other side of the Lion, the subject of the betrayal and the Witch's hopeful sacrifice frowned deeply within his wonder of if he should speak at all or not. "Nay," The Lion continued, his head shaking once again before attempting to meet the gaze of every one of the four siblings standing by his sides, even that of Edmund, the one whose gaze refused to lift from the guilt that so drowned his mind. "Fall back, all of you." Aslan said. "I will talk to the Witch alone."_

_And so it was that the Lion walked away, far from the Pevensies' side and to the awaiting company of a rather smug White Witch, who parted by the other's side but not without staring at the guilty child with what could only be described as evil expectancy before she did, leaving of the long haired brunette who looked on the situation from a few feet away from the siblings with nothing but the deepest sort of angered concern she had not felt since the murder of her own cousin had come to be spoken of to her. She could see the worry in the children's faces, the fear in Edmund's own as he refused to do more than look at the now green grass under his feet, even by the moment in which his younger sister's tiny arms wrapped around his waist with a distressed cry of "Oh, Edmund." and the tears that thereafter flowed down her cheeks, the young boy seemed unable to do more than hold the girl and keep looking at the ground as if it alone held all the solutions to his problems._

_It was a look that hurt as much as shook young-looking Juliet, for it was the sort she had seen only once before, once, a long time ago; long before the Mist she called her in-between had turned into Narnia, long before she had even known what a Protector of Love was. It was a look depicting of one's guilt, fear, and all out sorrow over an action made without the claim of a conscious thought; whether done by momentary anger, or a mistake to mirror all the horrors befallen of one's life, it was the sort of look that she had had to kiss away from her once beloved's face as he stepped slowly and quietly into her chamber's safety, the sort she had had to whisper away from Romeo's deep green eyes by the time they met her own for the first time that night._ I shan't hate thee for this, if that be the reason thou dare not look upon me.  _She had told him, her hand resting gently upon the softness of his olive skin before the press of a gentle kiss finally made him look up for the mere necessity of returning such a contact._ For I know mine cousin, and his pride, his temper, t'was one to burn down the streets mindless of who it killed in its path. Thus, fret not, my love, my husband, for mine heart is yours if thou shall still accept it.  _Ah, if only she had known what would become of him and her after that day, if only she had known he was going to murder her, if she had had Nurse to stop her alike she had been supposed to, alike Juliet herself now did for countless soul mates back in the world of Earth, if only—_

" _You can all come back." Said a familiar voice that pulled the girl away from the reverie brought from the very sorrow mirrored in Edmund Pevensie's brown gaze, making of curious and concerned Juliet nothing but the memory of who she was, even standing in her beloved world of Narnia, even whilst looking at the one who had spoken: the great Lion, giver of her second chance at life. "I have settled the matter," he continued, looking directly in the direction of the siblings who seemed to not be breathing at all. "She has renounced the claim on your brother's blood."_

_The world around Juliet finally breathed and rejoiced, from the fauns in front of her, to the minotaur that had challenged the witch, to the very Beavers who'd only moments prior had been clutching paws as if that alone were to make everything okay; the four siblings embraced each other, and though the heaviness in Edmund's eyes remained, a thankful smile lifted the corners of his lips as he warmed in the love from his siblings. Yes, the boy would live, the prophecy could be completed, and though Juliet Capulet clapped along the small celebration all around her, she could not but find herself haunted by the memories such a gaze in a child's face had brought along._

" _But how do I know this promise will be kept?" Came the voice of the Witch, claiming of everyone's attention once again; even the young brunette, whose hands lowered from their clapping and the soft frown in the middle of her forehead deepened with as much her own worries as that of the world's itself._

_But alas, such concern dared not remain for long, not when the loud roar of the Great Lion she so dearly felt thankful to echoed all around them, making the hairs at the back of her neck stand, and the once confident pale blue eyes in the Witch's face widen and lose all mighty strength, specially by the time she turned in her feet and finally ran away. It was an echo that remained, that tooted from the sky as if it were a ceiling in a long ball room, one that joined the celebration for all those who need not be scared of it, one that continued on and on and on..._

...until its echo finally woke her from her slumber; oh loud reminder of a time much long ago that felt too closely as the reality of her surroundings attempted to be recognised with her mind slipping away from the dreaming truth of a time so long ago that even the now Queen Consort, Juliet Capulet seemed much different. Sure, perhaps not physically, for her body would be stuck in the mirror of her fifteen year old self evermore, but mindfully, she was not the same girl, for the one who woke from her slumber was one who had seen wars first hand, one who had served in the court of the Pevensies for the entirety of their reign, one who had come to think of the guilty boy from her dream as something much more important than the mere reminder of the guilt she had once before seen, one who had fallen in love regardless of how her past should have prevented it, one who had married the very boy from her dream after years of friendship that, with time, shifted onto unexpected courtship, one who had seen miracles come to pass three times to the date by the reality of the child who slept within a crib mere feet away from her or the other two who slept in rooms of their own.

Yes, it had been fifteen years since that day in the Stone Table, fifteen years since the battle she had missed, fifteen years since the Pevensies had been crowned, and fifteen years since she and Edmund had first officially met. Oh, it had been fifteen years.

Fifteen years, and he was no longer there.

A reminder making of a heart so happy from waking of a memory into one full of sorrow as a wondrous hand came to rest upon the cold empty side where Edmund Pevensie had once rested beside her; an act that reminded her of the reality she now lived: it had been six days since he had left, five days since she'd awakened from a sleep—much alike the one from that moment—to be told her husband and King had not returned from a hunt alongside his siblings; five days since she had been waiting, and four since the crowns of the Queens and Kings were found many feet away from the tall lamp-post marking of Narnia's beginning and end.

Yes, fifteen years of reign, fifteen glorious years in which so much had changed, fifteen years which shifted her life into one she never would have thought to live in anything but dreams or the many duties given by the Protectors themselves; fifteen years, to what? One day have him be gone, with nothing but a silver crown to serve as a reminder that he was ever there; a crown and the paintings around the castle, but above all, the almost six year old boy of soft brown curls and brown eyes who seemed too much a mirror of his now gone father, or the three year old young girl with curls as bouncy as Juliet's own and a smile to match her father's.

Gone.

Aye, fifteen years... the only time that would be remembered forever more as a Golden Age.


	2. Chapter 2

  ─ ♚ ─  

The coronation had been something else entirely, a bittersweet truth from a magical land merely over the girl's own failure; for not only had she missed the very battle she had wished to be part of (to defend the well being of Narnia, which had been her home and her love for centuries), but she had done so over the truth that the Protectors of Love had sent her much too late for the protection of a good pair of soul-mates, a pair already reached by Romeo, a pair who had not been able to be saved due to his convicting temptation of everlasting life, which had led one of the two to kill the other; her mission had failed, her purpose had been pointless, and in consequence, she had also missed the very battle for which she had many reasons to fight in, from her love for Narnia to her own repulsion over the very Witch who had trapped it for much longer than the young girl dared to remember.

Thus, yes, the coronation had been bittersweet, for it celebrated a victory that she had not been able to feel, it celebrated the four siblings that she had not been able to fight beside, and she could not entirely become part of the celebrations over her own discontent upon her own failure; but she remained, dancing, feasting, evermore even smiling when she was so presented to the Kings and Queens – as the great legend of Narnia, Juliet Capulet – just like all people of consequence were , curtsying shortly but lowly, giving them the whole respect she felt after what they had done what seemed to her to be no more than days before, but truly had been months in Narnian time. Oh, yes, she had smiled, she had been kind, friendly, she had seen their majesties share curious looks that soon thereafter came to be revealed as curiosity over their knowledge of her; one she should have assumed they had over the place she knew they came from, but had not.  _Juliet Capulet? Like the play by William Shakespeare?_ The oldest Queen had wondered, voicing what everyone seemed to think.  _Indeed, I am the very girl._ Juliet had answered, but the reminder only served to make of the young girl's mind one full of even more sorrow, one who refused to shatter the others' belief of what had been supposed to be the most romantic story of all when they asked her if Romeo hid somewhere in the crowd and she had to say no– specially once the youngest Queen seemed excited to meet her, even more so than the rest –; one whose reminder of Romeo did no more than break her heart for what felt like the millionth time, specially so deeply after being defeated by the likes of his Kind, yet one who smiled, welcomed the other's words of awe, and even comforted the youngest Queen by agreeing to stay by her side. But even then she'd become a ghost, a short-lived mirrored memory of the joyous girl she had been before her failure two days prior, before the many things that made of that instance a bittersweet truth, before the failure of her own duties came to drown her.

Before she had to see on someone else what she had suffered herself centuries prior.

It was why for the next few days time seemed to pass slowly and painfully for the young immortal, even after the official offer came from young Queen Lucy, who wished to make of Juliet Capulet a Lady, one to stay by her side at all times, to help her, to be her friend if she so wished; of course, it had been an offer the girl had accepted almost immediately, one which brought joy into her magically beating heart, but one she was also not fully able to celebrate as much as she perhaps would have if it had come only a few days before; for, of course young Juliet was full of sorrow even until that day, for the failure she had seen and suffered had been her first. Yes, the first in the at least twenty times she had been called onto Earth for her duties, the first to shatter her own sense of vengeance against the one who had killed her, the first to taint her memories onto— "Lady Juliet?" The young voice called, shaking the brunette from the still guilty reverie that made her unable to do more than blink a couple of times and finally raise her gaze onto the one that called her: her Queen, Lucy. "Are you okay?" Her young curious voice wondered, tainted with a short speck of concern that even the low Protector was surprised to hear in the voice of a six year old.

"Of course, your majesty, I am." Juliet stated, lowering the book she had been supposed to be reading, but truly had not been paying attention at all, all to lift her lips in a smile that, as always, didn't truly reach her eyes.

Clearly the young Queen had not been convinced. "It's just..." Lucy began, smoothing out the folds of her dress as her own comfort showed upon the couch where she rested, her own book on her lap, her legs crossed under her yet well hidden under the very folds she had smoothed out previously. "...well," she attempted, for she had not always been a Queen, and the many teachings from the very Mother she missed, echoed in her mind over her manners, the truth that perhaps she should not be nosy, should mind her own business.

A struggle that seemed evident to Juliet herself, who smiled and straightened upon her own place on the love-seat beside the place the young Queen rested. "Thou may ask of me what thou wilt, your majesty." She encouraged, curious enough by that point to slowly close the book she'd been holding (though not entirely reading); but not, of course, without making sure her finger served as bookmark onto the words she'd been ignoring. "I shall answer true, I promise."

The young Queen released a breath; for she knew the things she wanted to ask were none of her business, really, but... well, the Lady was under her service, was she not? Did that not, then, make of Juliet's thoughts, past and present, her business? "I was just wondering why you look so sad." Apparently they did. "Is it because you miss Romeo?" Well, her query had been said.

And of course Juliet should have suspected it, of course, alike their majesties' recognition of her name, she should have guessed the youngest Queen, and her change, would be curious for not only her story but the truth she had admitted of Romeo not being anywhere near, something which definitely had had to come off as something strange given the popularity of their names entwined in a play. Suddenly her promise to answer truthfully came as loathed as the man included in the Queen's query himself; she didn't even take full notice of her eyes falling to her hands until she had to force them up to look at the Queen. "I wish that I could say aye, your majesty, so that I may not shatter what you know of me." She confessed, not missing at all the small frown wrinkling of the young girl's forehead even as her head tilted.

"What do you mean?" Queen Lucy wondered, blinking partially from the confusion brought by the other's words.

Once again, Juliet's eyes fell to her hands, as if they alone held the answer to the query the Queen had asked. "I mean not but the truth," She said, gulping of the knot formed in the middle of her throat over what she wished could be anything but what words would remind her of the reason behind her sorrow as of late. "That which I did not speak upon thy coronation, for the truth that it is a long story, and one which would negate what the play you know me from has said for centuries in our world." Finally her eyes lifted once again, and her book, ignoring of the words she had not even paid attention to begin with, was set aside at last. "That play is a lie, your Majesty." She confessed. "It was written by sir Shakespeare, yes, but... he was helped concoct its lies by Romeo himself, it... my story, it is not as thou know it; not all of it, at least."

The frown did not appear to want to leave the young Queen's forehead. "Then how is it?" She wondered, regardless of how shortly after her eyes widened and her posture straightened on her couch once again; her manners seemed to leave her sometimes, but at least she could be proud she remembered them. "That is, of course, if you want to tell me." Even a soft blush emerged upon her cheeks, and it did, in fact, feel strange to Juliet to see a Queen blush.

But she kept forgetting, where Juliet  _had_  been born a Lady, Lucy Pevensie had not been born a Queen; thus, she attempted to smile once again. "I do not mind your asking, your majesty." She comforted, making a slightly big show of making herself comfortable to serve as a means to convince the other that she truly did not mind the questions. "I will tell if thou wish it, but I must admit: it is a long story."

To that, Queen Lucy smiled. "I've got time." She said, encouraging her Lady to continue, even more so with the kind of smile only available for one her age, one that made Juliet feel better than she had even moments prior; such was the power of a child, and even more so, one as pure hearted as the Queen she served was. "Tell me." The Queen said, encouraging with curious words, even more so, the polite disposition in her features.

So Juliet told her everything.

She told her of how everything started, the quiet streets of Verona and her happy childhood, the love from her parents until she was old enough to wed, how, before she had become a woman, she had been the pride of her mother, the strength of her father, but all of it entirely changed when the prospect of marriage was at all presented to her; she told her of the similarities from the play up to the point in which the play continued with lies...

♦

_The story is thus, that of the girl now residing in the most magical land, one born centuries before the Kings and Queens of Narnia, born long before Narnia itself was even thought of, born to a land of warmth, the love of a family, and the support of a good old woman she grew by and called a Nurse, one spoken to of romance and marriage at an age as young as fourteen, one who lived more than she should have in such a short lifetime. It had all so started by the meeting at her Lady Mother's masquerade ball, a glance stolen from one corner of the room to the next, followed by the silent flirtation of their playful eyes; a romance so begun but one that would not truly find its birth on that night, for, unlike the depicted play, Romeo and Juliet did not share a kiss in that party, they did no more than dance, speak, and allow their eyes to do the flirting, no more than the kiss between palms as Shakespeare himself would later write, but none shared by their lips. And, of course, if there was no kiss, one could be sure that there were no declarations of love, nor the poetic musings of a man resting under the shadows of her balcony; they had met, danced, and yes, he had seemed enchanting and poetic, but he had left the party wondrous of her name and she of his, a name she shortly after learnt and for which she was devastated enough to be sad for one night, yet not enough to forgo her obedience onto her parents and marry the next afternoon._

_In fact, in truth, the two did not see each other until the next Sunday, at mass, where he rested upon one of the two main pews alongside his family, and she on the one right opposite his with her own, as the two Lord families of the city should; it was a place of worship, but one he dared smile at her from._ 'Tis a Montague _, she thought, making her eyes cold, and her posture colder still, paying no thought to anything but the friar that gave his sermon and the black handkerchief she fiddled with as discretely as she could (lest her mother catch her and make her stop right in front of any who looked her way); and so it went, that for the next pair of weeks, Romeo attempted to smile at her, and the winter of her attitude was met instead. Enough so that, by the monthly celebration of a city saint, quite unexpectedly and without a prior claim, Romeo pulled the girl away from the festivities into the safety of a shop abandoned for the celebration, planning to make his case to the girl, "_ _I know our houses be enemies but I hate thee not, I cannot." He said, "and if that be wherefore thou art as cold as a winter night since that blessed night I met thee, then I beg thee, kind Saint, hate me not, or if thou must, then put this hopeful worshiper out of his misery by telling me to never speak to thee again, for I know none of what drives our families' enmity, for which Irefuse it keep us apart, thus, speak, dear Lady, speak, and let my heart hope onto thee again."_

_They were words so kind that the girl was unable to not fall for them, for she could not come to understand the reason, like him, for which their families seemed to loath each other; after all, how could someone as kind as Romeo Montague seemed to be deserve to be hated merely for the word of someone older than she? Granted, it was her parents, and such became the reason it took at least a few minutes to make her choice, but she allowed him the hope he wished and vowed onto a short infatuation thereafter; one that, with time, made the smiles and glances shared turn into secret escapades where she claimed she went to confession or to the market with her Nurse – a nurse that, for a reason young Juliet, at the time, could not entirely understand, seemed to be more than willing to lie for the sake of her relationship with the young Montague –, and eventually even enough for the Capulet girl to sneak out of her house in the middle of the night in order to walk about her gardens with him or merely sit and talk._

_It was a relationship that did not truly develop into love until months had passed, including of her fifteenth birthday, when finally then the proposal of marriage came; one that Juliet happily accepted over the truth that a whole year had passed since the act was mentioned to her, and the one opportunity she had had (Yes, older Count Paris), had not been at all agreeable to her or her family – turns out Paris was much more easily moved than the version of him in the play, for he gave up on his advances the moment her father told him he had not an answer two weeks after the initial request had been made. And here is where the play rings true once again, for a marriage to her family's enemy was not only not allowed, but forbidden, thus the couple planned on marrying in secret, consummate the marriage, and not speak of such a fact until nothing could be done to break it by either family regardless of how intently they tried._

_The problem was, much like the play blames: Juliet's cousin, Tybalt, for his infatuation with her (one hidden entirely from anyone's eyes except Juliet's own) rose to levels in which his men were told to spy on her; an act well played, for they told him of the wedding's news, and after the jolly consummation... well, the rest, up to a point, is known: he challenged newlywed Romeo, one who refused over his new lawful bond to the man, Mercutio's pride got in the way, so he was slain, shortly thereafter followed by Tybalt, who was slain by a grief filled Romeo, thus, Romeo was banished. And, alas, here is the point of the story from which all things spoken by the play-write become nothing but a lie, for, after the boy's exile, there was no clever plot from the friar to have Juliet thought dead, much less the misunderstanding upon the tomb where both lovers died; no, instead, Romeo, a couple of minutes after his exile was announced two days after the horrid act had come to be (two nights more spent with Juliet, as well), sent a letter to his new wife (via Benvolio, always the loyal man), explaining his situation, the exile, the sadness that ate at his heart onto what he had had to do, his inability to avoid killing Tybalt by the name of his newly murdered friend, not something he had not already told her, words so broken and harsh that, regardless of their evident manipulation, Juliet saw as nothing more than true confessions, for her love blinded her, it blinded her onto the words stating of his shame, his anger, stating of how deeply he would understand the girl if she chose to never speak to him again, if she wished their marriage gone, if she wished him dead, how he would understand but he would hope..._ _if thou wilt, if thy gentle heart sees thus fit to forgive this vile villain, I beg thee, my precious love, meet me within the safety of the monument maker of thy name's fame, where thou shall meet a man loving of thy person with all his heart, ready to leave this city, something much livelier if it were to be by thy side. Meet me, gentle Juliet; let this marriage be marry in a city far from the loathing of these walls... _It was a letter much longer than that, which claimed his love for her in prose and song, one that made it easier for the young girl to decide to run away with him.__

_And so it was that she went to the Capulet tomb in the middle of the night, fooling every single speck of protection in her home, from the guardsmen, to her Nurse, carrying of only a few things in a small bag and a hopeful heart to fill the rest; and such was the passion from both lovers, that the moment she arrived their kisses of relief turned into more, something which, unbeknownst to young Juliet at the time, Romeo soon after turned into candid manipulation and deceit, when he, after a conversation meaning of curiosity along their fates, the boy wondered (masked under pretence) what the girl would do if he were to have been killed instead of banished. It was a question the girl answered within her thriving theatricality as she always did, by quite literally reaching for the abandoned dagger atop the pile of their clothes in order to point it in her heart's direction. "I would rather make mine body into this lonely dagger's sheath and join thee in death than take one breath without thy company." Words that thereafter would become her last, for the shock of his actions then silenced her, his betrayal, when he moved so quickly that all actions took a couple of seconds to take count, and managed to push her hand forward with enough strength upon their position, making the pointed dagger slip deep into her chest and breaking of her heart in two, leaving the blood that slowly then slipped from the new wound as the only scream visible from Juliet's soul._

_"For this truth, I shall say farewell," Romeo said, a single tear washing the paleness of his face. "Given in this day, brought by thy blood well spilt, which will mark the arrival of immortality onto mine heart; as by this death thou hath gifted me with eternity, dear saint, and thus, my love, death shall never touch me." He held her, yes, attempted to comfort her against the betrayal of his murderous actions, as if his tears could heal her wounds, as if his word made any sense to girl slowly dying upon the ground of her family's tomb. "For this gift, thy heart cannot live as long as mine might, thus, I thank thee." He continued, his tears falling against her cheeks, making of her own tainted entirely by the fragility of his own sorrow. "May age never touch thy beautiful face, nor wrinkle thy perfect lips." A vow he sealed with a kiss upon equally bleeding parted brims. "May youth be thy eternal companion." And with no more than the silence of his actions, he lowered her naked body to the ground, and left._

♦

 _"_ He  _killed_  you?" Queen Lucy asked, the soft voiced breaker of the Lady's tale, as even her eyes, which had fallen to look at the small wooden table between the two, lifted to look in the other's direction, nodding. "He actually thought killing you would make him immortal?"

This is where Juliet's head finally shoot. "Nay, your majesty, he didn't think it would, he knew it." She responded, quickly enough to make the Queen's head tilt onto the confusion of the long haired Lady once again; for if she had understood the entirety of her saddened tale, here, Juliet had lost her. "'Tis not something I came to know until later, but there was a creature lurking in the body of a dead man, possessing him, if thou wilt, that whispered things to Romeo's ear," she informed. "It spoke to him of power, of immortality, all to come by the spilt blood of she whom he loved the most, his soul-mate." She paused, pointing at herself. "Me."

The young Queen seemed horrified. "And it worked?" She asked, not at all surprised when Juliet nodded once again.

"Only because our love was true." She said, releasing a soft breath through parted lips. "See, the love between true soul-mates is rare, your majesty, and it is so powerful that it can make or break a world; it has magic so powerful that used wrongly it can give life eternal, for 'tis meant to tie two souls together for the rest of eternity, allowing them to meet over and over again through the course of thousands of years, which, if, like Romeo, one of the soul-mates kills the other, then the magic resting in the murdered lover's heart transfers to him or her, giving them immortality for as long as they are able to lure other lovers to do alike; 'tis a vicious cycle that has gone for longer than even I can know: one of Them manipulates, thus convinces a lover to kill their soul-mate, that lover turns like Them so that they can convince someone else, and on, and on." She breathed, encouraged to go on merely by the curiosity in the young Queen's gaze. "'Tis why we call them Lifeless, for they exist without truly living, given that their purpose alone is to lure more people to their cause; making any, like Romeo, much more tortured than even I might be, for his body remains the same, yet the duty that drives him makes of his soul not but an invader of one dead body to the next, rotting alongside it, keeping it moving by mere purpose alone, more dead than alive, and only able to return to his never-changing body when he is either successful on convincing a soul-mate of murder or fails in the task."

"That sounds horrible." The young Queen noted, the tiny frown wrinkling her forehead as her hands rested balled upon her lap. "Why would anyone want such a thing?"

Surprisingly, the smile that lifted Juliet's lips was one of sadness, even pity as she replied. "Frankly, I fail to think anyone would." She admitted. "But that be their game: lying to achieve their end, manipulating, avoiding details and luring others by promise of immortality, enough so that, by the time they realise they are but to exist for someone else's purpose, it is much too late."

It was absolutely no surprise the swiftness with which the Queen caught up; after all, Juliet had known she was smart. "But... who do they serve?" She wondered, looking at her Lady once more, as curious as the moment she had noted the other's sadness to start.

It was only for such a reason that Juliet smiled. "Someone evil, your majesty, yet someone much alike the ones I serve, for everything has its counterpart, and for the Lifeless, the opposite are people like me and those above people like me, the ones giving of my duty: Love's Protectors, or plainly Protectors. The ones originally gifting of a soul-mate's magic in the first place, beings much older than any human ever living, beings of so much power that the only way for them to not grow insane with it is to gift some of it to creatures like us, with love, meant to make us stronger, meant, as their name states: to protect.

Yet, the first Lifeless... she came to be by the temptation of her own power, one like the Protectors, but tempted." Lady Juliet continued, her hands threading together as her frame finally relaxed upon her seat. "She realised she could keep her power, and moreover, gain endless more if only she took the life of one gifted of soul-mate's magic, and by every soul-mate killed, more power fell into her hands, and so the cycle began, with her first created soldier, and the next, until her army was so vast that the Protectors had to begin an army of their own, for by her gaining power, They lost even more, thus, the place where people like me come into play: people betrayed by those who would become the first Lifeless' soldiers, people given of duty to fight those who had betrayed them, to give the name of Protector a brand new meaning, to protect future soul-mates, and help them keep away from the path of those like Romeo, who would whisper in their ear until one of them killed the other, as is my duty.

And thus the answer of thy first query, my Queen: the reason for my evident sorrow," She confessed, finding her gaze falling onto her lap once again. "'Tis for I have failed upon my last given task," An admission that hurt the deepest part of her magically beating heart. "I was sent too late, and the soul-mates I was sent to protect corrupted by the likes of Romeo, who continues attempting to end me once and for all, making of my duty harder to accomplish. 'Tis a pain, your majesty, that I find unable to keep from my face, for I was pulled away when this world needed me the most, making it so that a duty failed came from both sides of my existence: a soul-mate dead for the first time by my watch, and a war not fought, yet given here: a reward that I do not deserve, as such come by the gift of being asked to be thy Lady."

And at that, finally, she cried.

That which she had been unable to do from the moment she had arrived, that which, unsurprisingly enough, made the young Queen raise from her seat in order to move to her Lady's side. "Hey, hey..." She said, a soothing tone meant to calm the weeping girl, as a small arm attempted to comfort the older girl. "It is not your fault, I am sure." An attempt over the few couple of questions that remained across her head, "We won the war, didn't we? That is a win, something to be happy about."

"Aye, but I failed to help," Juliet responded, lifting a hand with hopes of wiping away her treacherous tears. "Here this world hath given me a second chance at life, something I'd not felt since my death so long ago, and how doth my thanks come? By leaving right when it need'd me the most, just after thy news of Aslan came, just after King Peter took well leadership of us all, just as we were leaving for the battle ground, I was gone, pulled from this, my second chance, and into the body of a person that hath not given me enough to save my charge. Nay'th but an invader, a possession, a spirit, not the girl thou can touch, can see, but a lower Protector who hath failed upon that too, and—"

"I believe you've lost me." The young Queen apologetically interrupted, attempting of a smile across her lips, and a single breathed show of amusement and apology for the other to hear, one meant to comfort, perhaps even meant to make her smile.

It seemed to work. "I'm sorry." Juliet said, chuckling shortly herself as her hand lifted once again to fight against the newly shed tears. At least the younger girl shook her head. "'Tis only the part of the story I've failed to explain, as is the truth that I am only human here, in Narnia." She thereafter confessed.

Lucy's brows seemed to lift in wonder and curiosity once more, even as her little hand continued to attempt comforting the much older girl (much only in true age, mostly, for, visually, she looked no older than Susan). "Oh?" A single word full of the very curiosity that drove the young Queen.

It made Juliet find enough encouragement to continue, sniffing her sadness away so she could speak without much pause. "Remember thou my presentation onto thee, your majesty?" She wondered. "How the knight called me Narnia's legend and myth?" Of course Lucy nodded. "Well, 'tis because of how long I've been here." Juliet continued. "I have called this place my home long before it was baptised Narnia," She paused. "There was once nothing here, your majesty. Nothing but an emptiness, a Mist of sorts where I could not see, think, breathe, not even dream, where the Protectors sent my soul to rest when it was not needed for my duty of protection onto soul-mates. For, you see, I possess people too, alike the Lifeless do, only, unlike them, given that my duty is given by the Protectors themselves, I am able to possess the living; not alike it be depicted on the bible, stating of demons, I assure you," The Lady said once the expression on the young Queen's face shifted onto one of concern, even terror. "But merely one soul, spirit, if thou wilt, taking the place of another for a short time, and only whilst necessary." She paused. "'Tis why the Mist was created, for my soul, and that of those like me, us lower Protectors, to have a place to be whilst unneeded, so I hath not to possess others in between missions, alike Romeo and his kind.

Us low Protectors are sent, when needed, to the body of one close to the one we must protect, we get that body's memories the second we land, so that we may'nt change any single part of their lives, so that we may pretend to be them whilst doing our duty, so we can blend in, so we can save the charged soul-mate without having to explain too much alike perhaps a stranger to them might have to." The continued silence from the young Queen continued to serve as encouragement for Juliet, thus, after making sure, with a single look, that the other continued to want to listen, she went on: "'Tis meant to make our duty easier, and at most instances, it does; when our duty be done, we leave the body we hath possessed and are sent onto the Mist once more.

That was how it was for centuries, your majesty." Juliet explained. "I knew not but the minds of others and the nothingness of the Mist I was sent to in between; I possessed one person, did my duty, and then nothing, duty, and nothing, and so on, until, one day, upon my return, the place where there was once nothing seemed full of light." At least, upon this part of the story, the young girl could smile, something contagious enough for the young Queen to mirror the grin and lower her hands onto her lap, captivated by the other's tale entirely. "I was witness the birth of Narnia, and it was magical, Queen Lucy, if I may be frank. For that light made the grass upon which many later walked, it formed the trees, it gave life to the animals, it made them talk, and... may it be chance, or a gift from Aslan and the Protectors as well, but with the life brought by this world, I was given life too. When that creating light reached me, the world's maker allowed me to feel the grass under my feet, to breathe, to feel my heart beat, something I hath not ever since that horrible day within the tomb." Even her hand lifted to rest upon the place that magical heart continued to beat, as if the emphasis were necessary beside her words. "My Mist of nothing became this whole wonderful world thou calls't Narnia, and with it, came my second chance at life.

Of course, I knew not how it would work for me, for eventually I remembered my duty, I remembered the Protectors, the soul-mates my vow hath me protect. I thought They would pull me away from my second chance and send me to another empty mist, one which seemed like torture after having felt life with my hands, my face, my body, one more time." She released a breath, the relief echoing even centuries after that first day. "Fortunately it was not so; They allowed my stay here, They allowed me this second chance, and be pulled away, alike I was before it became Narnia, only when my services were needed upon Earth, to continue to protect soul-mates as I'th vowed, but with the gift of life by this, oh, so magical world that allowed this saddened spirit an opportunity to feel everything once again.

Thus, you see, my Queen, the reason for which I feel I have betrayed this land by leaving when it needed me the most. Something which, perhaps, would not have hurt as deeply as it now does, hath I been able to do my duty and saved the soul-mates I'd been charged, but alas, I could not." She finally said, her explanations run dry, but not with them her tears, which returned as if they had never left, slowly and quietly as if they themselves felt guilty to even be. "This Legend living by this world since its creation, hath failed, and 'tis thus for which my sorrow is so clear, your majesty, for I failed everywhere, and for it I feel not worthy of the gift the world hath given me of this second life, much less of the kind honour of serving at your side."

Once again, the tiny hand of the Queen's comfort lifted to rest upon Juliet's back, her head shaking, and with it, the tips of her hair. "I would not have it any other way," She said, keeping the now well-founded smile across her lips before she spoke again. "Because if I understand correctly, then it was not you who went away from here too late, but your Love's Protectors, who failed to send you earlier." She mused. "Which means, it is not your fault, right? Not that you could not save those out there, nor than you couldn't fight here." She paused. "It was out of your hands, am I right?"

After the short sniff and released guilty sigh, Juliet found herself nodding, lifting her hand for what felt like the millionth time in order to wipe away the remnant of her tears. "See?" Queen Lucy spoke once again, soothing the other with her words and her smile, as she would anyone even when they did not speak to her; such was the light in the valiant girl. "More reasons to smile than to cry, I believe."

Indeed; with the spoken and comforted guilt out of her chest, Juliet Capulet had more reasons to smile than to cry at once. Blessed be Queen Lucy, whose very presence could light a whole room or comfort a guilty heart; blessed be onto the very vow that the young Lady made upon that night: to protect her Queen as ardently as she would a most dear friend, to be more than just her Lady in waiting, but her Protector, for once, by pure free will, and not by charge. 


	3. Chapter 3

─ ♚ ─

It was no surprise that the young Queen had explained everything about her Lady to her siblings; in fact, Juliet herself had encouraged her to speak her truths if only for the hopes of not repeating that which hurt her the most (even centuries after the fact) to remember. It was a fact that no one else in the great world knew, for before the battles and the horrid curse from the White Witch, Juliet Capulet had kept to herself, and as a surprising after effect of her confessions, upon the Pevensie Kings and Queens being the only ones (aside from Aslan, of course) who knew of her and her true past and life, the five (or at least almost all five of them) found themselves forming the sort of bond of trust only close friends seem to have as time passed; from days to weeks to months, even allowing some times for the Lady to call them by their first name, all along until the first time their majesties had to make the first harsh decision of their reign, such as could be what to do with the slowly found creatures that had once served the Witch upon her trail of death.

But even though the battles were over (and would be for a couple of years more) the queens and kings continued to make themselves strong, they continued to train, from swords, to horse riding, to the famous bow and arrow forever favoured by the elder Queen's strength; it was a feat so usual after their time in the land, that it was even made part of their weekly schedule; thus, it was no surprise that the youngest Queen (accompanied by her Lady as she now always was) after getting to the training field behind Cair Paravel to find only Susan and Peter ready for the daily training session, had gotten to the task of finding her slightly older brother, Edmund, in some way or another, by means of looking through all possible rooms, roaming the halls of the big palace, mindful of all around her, and even joyfully conversing here and there about things only Juliet, being from the world outside of Narnia, could understand almost as well as she. Things like the sweets, the toys, the books, and, oh, how they spend their time talking about books, something which Lucy came to find young Juliet adored as much as she, something that they could share, wonder about and— the gentle echo of a splash of some sort reached the two girls, stopping the conversation short, and even leaving them to share the sort of gaze only two so curious as Lucy Pevensie and Juliet Capulet could come to ever share.

The first thing they had been able to see as they continued walking was the back of the very boy the young queen had been searching for; his frame was stretched to the sky, his feet barely touching the ground for the very second it took for his very evident jump to land through gravity once again, his once white shirt splattered by curious stains of many colours; he looked as if he'd rolled down a patch of rotten vegetables or fruit, getting seeds within the stains as much as the colour itself. "There you are, Edmund." Lucy said, just in time for another splash alike the one they had previously heard to echo in the small parlour, making a small frown almost immediately adorn the young girl's forehead as her head tilted and her sight focused on the place his own did: the ceiling. "What are you doing?"

An explanation needed, yes, because the ceiling was as horribly splattered and coloured as the young boy's shirt. "I found these in the kitchens." He informed, looking away from the ceiling toward his sister, offering a small slightly fluorescent ball that looked more like a fragile balloon full of water than a vegetable or fruit; seconds later, the boy threw a look in Juliet's direction, yet did no more than acknowledge her with a nod of his head and a lift of a hand before turning to look at Lucy again. "They're supposed to be edible, but they looked funny." Out of the four siblings, he was the one who acted less friendly and more polite with her; something the girl tried not taking personally (as per Lucy's request), for he was as such with everyone he didn't entirely know or trust.

In other words: everyone who was not related to him by blood.

"It feels funny." The young Queen noted, holding the offered fluorescent ball and examining it as if it were some sort of tiny animal. "Why are you throwing it at the ceiling?" She then wondered, lifting her curious gaze from the little ball to her brother, yet easily offering the strange item to Juliet, whose brows lifted in equal curiosity to hold the offering as a smile lifted her lips.

Edmund seemed to frown over the fruit passing from Lucy to her Lady but said nothing; instead, he leaned down so he could pick another of the fluorescent balls from a wooden bucket that not one of the girls had noted was there until then. "Well," Edmund began, his eyes lifting to the splattered ceiling once again before they lowered to make sure the ball rested steady upon his hands. "One of them exploded in my hand, and the juice came out purple." He informed, squatting for a second and a half before he propelled himself from the floor and threw the fruit to the once white ceiling, continuing to speak only when his feet were back on the floor. "But one of the cooks was cutting another that looked the same, but the juice was green."

Something which explained the multi coloured mess upon the ceiling... and his shirt. "Oh, Edmund." Lucy said, something so common to come from the young Queen's lips that it made a corner of the boy's lips twitch; almost as if he were to smile; instead, he simply looked at her. "This is what you've been doing when we're supposed to be training?" She wondered, but the little frown in the middle of her forehead appeared once again, and her head had tilted like before, all accompanying of words that left the girl's lips barely a second after the ones before; impeding the boy from responding at all. "Wait... the kitchens are on the other wing, why are you throwing them all the way here?"

"There're people there." The young King replied, looking away from his sister and getting ready to throw yet another fruit. "Besides, this ceiling's the only white one." He paused, once again, so he could throw another of the fluorescent balls from the wooden bucket to the ceiling; this time the splash came out pink. He smiled. "The others are either gold or have some sort of intricate painting on them; how could I see colours against something that's already coloured?"

"Oh, 'tis Sundust." The happy voice from Juliet Capulet came near them, and both siblings turned to look at her; Lucy with curiosity, Edmund with a slight speck of annoyance and a risen brow. At the silence that surrounded her, the Lady realised she had spoken, and be thanked the magic in the world that had brought life back to her, for her pale cheeks coloured almost as deeply as one of the stains on the ceiling above them. "Beg pardon, I've interrupted." She said, lowering the fluorescent ball she had been given from her mouth, and lifting her other hand to rid her lips from the blue juice that had remained behind the fruit.

Edmund would have said yes, but Lucy spoke before he could. "No, what's Sundust, Lady Juliet?" She wondered; the curiosity back in her eyes, giving the poor red cheeked Protector a speck of relief to allow her to go on.

At least after that small knot in the middle of her throat had been gulped away; lest she allow her past and the ghost of her Lady Mother scold her over interrupting anyone's conversation when her input had not been requested; specially one between a King and a Queen, regardless of if they had started to become her friends or not. "The fruit, your majesty," she informed, lifting the hand holding of the bitten fluorescent ball and lowering it once more; forcing her own speech to hold her in the present and away from any thought of her Mother. "I failed to recognise it, for I've only seen them in a white shade, but the taste, 'tis the same."

"So you  _are_  supposed to eat them?" King Edmund wondered, looking at the older girl and feeling his frown deepen only slightly; feeling only the ghost of long forgotten regret when the Lady nodded and the realisation that he  _had_  actually been playing with food befell him at last. Oh, his mother would not be proud.  _What she doesn't know won't hurt her..._ "Where do they come from?"

"Oh, the North, your majesty." Juliet informed, much more polite with him than she ever was with Lucy; such was the sort of change between the formality of he who refused to truly be a friend, and her own charge, who treated her as if she were already the best of friends day by day. A fact evident more for the truth that she only called Queen Lucy  _your majesty_  whilst in public; when they were alone, Lucy would do. "'Tis but one of the few imported goods from near lands; I rest unsure of which, for I have never been apt at names or locations, but I do know the North be their origin."

"Huh." Edmund voiced, looking down at the fluorescent ball in his hands and turning it curiously, making a silent note to actually find out where in the North the so called Sundust came from; and it had been thus, that which the young King had been thinking, when Lucy simply thanked her Lady and continued along with an "Anyway," before touching her brother's arm with a gentle nudge, making the curious King lift his eyes to look into the blue orbs of she who had changed his life for the better. "Did you not see the time, Edmund?" She wondered, not that there were watches to carry around, but many sun and sand clocks would have made the lateness of his attendance known.

If only he'd cared enough to check them. "No?" He wondered, ignoring the gentle crunch coming from somewhere near, as it was obvious it was Lady Juliet and her continuous munching of the foreign fruit; instead, he looked away from Lucy towards the splattered ceiling once again. 

"Well, we've been looking for you everywhere." The young Queen announced, throwing a short look in Juliet's direction, automatically including her in the 'we', before looking at Edmund again. "You're late for training."

It was no surprise that the young King released a groan of short annoyance before his hand moved to throw the Sundust in his hand to what little white space remained in the ceiling. "I don't want to train," He said, once his feet landed on the floor again and the splat echoed in the small parlour. "We already trained yesterday," He looked at Lucy. "For an hour longer than we were supposed to."

Lucy smiled. "It was half that, silly." She said, moving to gently pull on the boy's stained shirt shortly. "Come on," She gently chanted. "You always have fun when we train, don't you? It's really sunny out, too, it's a beautiful day."

The boy's head shook, moving away from the other's touch with the excuse of picking another fluorescent ball from the now nearly empty wooden bucket. "Exactly; much too sunny, if you ask me." He responded. "Not today, Lucy."

But the Queen wouldn't give. "But we must," she said. "Isn't that right, Juliet?" She wondered, looking at the older girl, whose hand had lifted to remove blue residue juice from her lips.

She had to swallow before responding, regardless of if she nodded almost as soon as she had been addressed. "Of course, your majesty." She responded once she swallowed. "You must train everyday as to remain as strong as thou art already."

"Exactly," Lucy agreed, turning to Edmund once again. "So we must; Peter and Susan are already waiting for us."

Another splat echoed within the room just before the young King spoke: "No, I don't want to." He said. "Tomorrow."

"But, Edmund..." The Queen chanted again, almost begging with a pretty smile, moving once again to pull on her brother's tainted sleeve.

Something, which, unfortunately, made the king drop the Sundust he held in his hand onto the floor, leaving a big purple splatter upon the marble as much as his shoes and the hem of Lucy's dress; it became enough to ignite what speck of annoyance had begun forming at the bottom of his stomach. "Will you just stop it already? I said no, now look what you have done." He spat in his younger sister's direction, pulling away from the girl with a shove and releasing the loud frustration of a sigh as he shook his foot to rid it from the few seeds that had stuck to the leather, yet failing to notice the shock across the young girl as her hands shrunk to her own body, recoiling as if she truly had done something horrible, something unforgivable, something more than just make her brother drop a fluorescent fruit; yet the other did not see such a thing, leaving such an image to be not but for the older Lady who suddenly found herself frowning and wishing she could say something, comfort Lucy, manage to make the younger boy quiet, make him apologise for making the Queen recoil the way she had, but, damn it, he was a King, he was the one of the four siblings who had not entirely become her friend yet, he was the one with a shorter temper, but, she still wanted to speak, and she... "Just because you're Lucy the Valiant, it doesn't mean you're special enough to tell me what to do." Finally, he looked up, but it was much too late.

The words had barely been spoken louder than his previous utterance, but they seemed to echo loud enough to slap the younger Queen across the face with enough force that the rage, which had been building within Juliet's stomach for the past few seconds, fired within the girl loudly enough that, regardless of the place where she stood, or the position she held, she was unable to stop her frame from moving a step closer to the situation so she could look the shorter boy in the eye whilst reaching a hand for her Queen, and exclaim as loudly as she dared in such an echoing hall: "I beg thy pardon?" She said; apparently his last words had become enough to make her worry of position disappear. "Thou might be king, sir, but even such a position gives thee no right to speak to thy sister in such a way."

It was a statement that seemed to shock both Pevensies enough to look in her direction, regardless of the means with which Lucy leaned against Juliet's taller frame; but Edmund, tainted hands, splattered shirt and now wet boots, could do no more, even in his shock, than frown within his own doubt and guilt whilst looking at the older Lady with an echo of short lived challenge; short lived merely because of his own continuous belief (even nearly a year after his coronation) that the treachery he had done left him in a shaky position even in his Kingship, for what if his arrogance made the great Aslan take everything away from him and say he had not learnt a thing, when he very much had? What if, what if... a question big enough to have the boy scoff lowly, and turn in his place to walk away; yet one not loud enough to stop him from barely mumbling between teeth "What's it to you, anyway?" as he moved, wishing to walk past Juliet without another word said.

Yet he'd been close enough to her for the Lady to hear him. "Why, she is my charge, my Queen, and my friend." She responded, making the young King stop in his tracks and turn to look at her with wide eyes. "Thus, 'tis my business to make sure none hurt her, your majesty, not even you."

How could she talk to him as such? How dared she scold him as if he were not a king but a mere pointless child, how could she... Edmund wondered quietly, mentally shuddering at his own reverie over the truth of the shaky floor of Kingship he stood on (the one he thought he was on, anyway), whilst looking up at the older girl blocking his way before looking at Lucy, who remained leaning against Juliet and held an expression of shock and sorrow all at once; his lips moved, shifting as if he wished to speak, his hands balling into fists with enough force that the continuous query that remained ever since his rescue from Jadis The Horrible appeared in his mind for the millionth time:  _have I truly changed at all?_  His lips pressed together, his jaw locked, and what little hatred he dared hold mirrored in his deep brown eyes.  _Aslan, forgive me._  "Whatever." He finally said with no more than a mumble that wished to hide his own annoyance as much as force all the words he wished to spit in the Lady's direction to become swallowed poison for only him; all whilst looking away from both girls and hiding within his own bubble of continued self-doubt before he spoke once again, slightly louder: "Get out of my way."

Not that he actually waited for Juliet to do so, for, instead, he simply pushed past her, forgoing the last the Sundust fruits in the wooden bucket, and wishing to get out of the situation as soon as possible; but it was no more than a scoff that followed him from the Lady's lips, one who thanked the God she still believed in that this time, much like the many millions of times she had spoken out of turn with as much the Narnian royalty as those older people on Earth when she'd been but a living breathing girl in Verona, had not been the end of her like surely one day it would be. Instead, Juliet turned to look at Lucy, who still leaned against her with shocked eyes and tears pooling upon the corners of her eyes. "Are you okay?" The Lady wondered, one of her hands soothing the young Queen's back whilst that magical heart of hers nearly beat out of its place over the reality of what had just happened.

Still, the younger girl did not speak; instead, she merely nodded, holding onto her Lady with the sort of confidence and affection she had only grown to have with time, and looking at the mess of purple juice and seeds on the floor. Leaving Juliet with no other option than soothing the other girl as the short anger that had made her speak encouraged her to look in the direction the King had gone; only to be surprised by the fact that the boy had stopped in his retreat to look back at the scene he had left behind. He was there, hands in his pockets, a worried expression twisting of his features, but one that almost immediately changed into a scowl to mirror Juliet's the moment their eyes met; leaving not but a wonder of what he was thinking for the older girl, for she had seen the flicker of regret in his features, yet the disappearance of such into a daggering stare to match hers became enough to wonder if she'd truly seen the emotion in the boy's features in the first place or not; not that she had a lot of time to wonder, for only a couple of seconds of mutual scowling later, the boy's chest twitched with a scoff she could not hear before he finally turned around and walked away, leaving the Lady looking at his retreating figure until he disappeared around the corner, comforting of her Queen and wondering, over the swiftness of the occurrence, what exactly had just happened.

And whilst the wonder remained within her head, something was sure to be said: where previous encounters between the King and Lady would be easily forgotten, the two had definitely left an impression onto the other that day.


	4. Chapter 4

─ ♚ ─

Time came to pass faster than any of the people at the court of the Kings and Queens could believe, making the days grow shorter, and the first leaves of the non-sentient trees fall solely to the deep yellowing grass, dancing with colder winds that brought a distant worry to the rest of the Narnian world; yet, still, even through their worries, the work at court refused to come to an end, for soldiers and knights remained busy in as much the cases of political alliances with near countries and the continuous finding of Jadis' allies, as with the first given ball to celebrate the first year of reign from the people who had saved the world from the White Witch. It was a ball as elegant as their coronation day, with food, dancing, golden chandeliers and the laughter of those in attendance, making almost all worry from those in the palace dissipate the moment the Queens stepped into the hall dressed in gold and the Kings in silver, their crowns contrasting beautifully with the fabrics of their gowns and capes – yet even in their beauty one of the Kings appeared to be smiling less brightly than the rest, for the colder winds outside had brought nightmares in their wake, memories of his treacherous time, and whispers that refused to leave him alone; yet they were all emotions so well hidden than not many more than his siblings and the Lady of the youngest could claim to recognise; for everyone else, all signs of sorrow or fear hid well under the smiling mask across his lips.

In all, it was beautiful event enjoyed by all, and one that became the first – since her appointment as Lady to The Valiant Queen – which young Juliet Capulet could truly enjoy, for the weight of her failure in the other world and Narnia itself upon the coronation had flown away through kind words from her charge and a true forgiveness from her mind. It was a festivity that lasted hours upon hours, with no more than the smiles of happiness from all present even when the food ran out, from the dancing between creatures, to the eventful waltz of which young Juliet and the High King had been main focus of after he'd made a show to ask her to the centre of the hall; everyone clapped (Lucy most of all, cheering her brother and Lady on), and some even joined them after, couples of fauns, dwarves, elves, other animals, making the hall into a colourful picture of happiness that made all feel as if nothing could break such joy apart.

Yet, it was the very next day when things took a turn for the dark in most creature's minds, but above all, for those residing in the Kings and Queen's home, for the morning felt cold, the sky seemed grey, and the first snow flake fell from the sky, dancing slowly with the unexpected winds that had flown all remaining leaves away from the trees refusing to leave Narnia's lands; it was silent in its fall, yet it caused a havoc of worry and tension within Cair Paravel that made, for the first time since their majesties' coronation, its halls run dry with the silence that there fell. The cold attempted to be scared off by the flames of the fire places in all the rooms, yet even through the warmth, the tension was tangible, for the snowflakes fell to follow their brother to the ground, melting at first, yet eventually sticking to the yellow of the grass in the gardens, topping the tall trees with frosting and leaving most creatures living of the Great War wary as they looked outside their windows.

All save a few brave members of the guard, who stood tall upon their different duties alike the one standing within the room where the Kings and Queens had decided to huddle together in comfort of each other and the dismissal of the words either of them refused to speak; that is... all but one. "Where is Edmund?" Lucy wondered as she and her Lady walked away from the big window in Peter's room, moving to sit on his great bed as Lady Juliet remained standing near her charge; for, yes, she was friends with the Kings and Queens (to such extent that by that point they even joked together more often than not, and had enjoyed the dance with the High King as much as she would have enjoyed a dance with a brother), but such did not mean she could act equal to them in any way that she could do as their majesties and sit on the great golden bed.

"He's refused to leave his room." Queen Susan responded, meeting the gazes of her siblings, and even Juliet, who knew exactly the reason behind their youngest brother's isolation, before Peter's fell to the sheets atop his bed.

"I tried talking to him, but he wouldn't open the door." The High King informed, noting the slouch to accompany his youngest sister's worry, yet equally thankful to young Juliet for the comfort her hand attempted to bring the girl as it rested on her shoulder; still, Peter's own hand moved to rest on the young Queen's soft hand. "Don't worry, Lucy." He attempted. "I told the guards outside his room to inform me as soon as he left it, he'll be alright; he's safe."

A soft released breath left the older Queen's lips whilst her hands moved to tighten the held blanket around her frame. "It's the fact that he's alone that worries me." She said, looking in the High King's direction with the gentle urgency to blame for her title. "He shouldn't be alone, not right now; not when..." But she wouldn't say it; she couldn't, no matter how much everyone thought it, no matter how the words seemed printed in everyone's gaze, the Queen's worried speech died with a silent sigh, leaving the crackling from the fire becoming the only sound within the room.

But it was that sorrow crossing of their faces that made young Juliet's forehead taint with a frown, her feet well planted on the floor, thus mindful of her position at court; their expressions were the sort to make her heart roll within her chest, the bottom of her stomach hurt, and her head feel heavy with the many things she wished she could do to fix it all. A feat that was definitely not her responsibility, yet one that she could let go of as easily as it would be to stop breathing then and there, until it killed her and then she'd have to explain why she'd fallen to the ground unconscious for a few minutes. Dramatic metaphors aside, their majesties' silence was a heavy one that moved Juliet alike what she thought to be a sort of maternal instinct she'd been stolen of experiencing; yet one that, due to her position, she could not much act upon, for it was not as if she could simply hold the Kings and Queens in her arms to assure them all would be alright.

Hell, forget about the position she held; what about the fact that, physically, she looked younger than the oldest two. No; the only thing she had left were her words, those that many refused to acknowledge over their fear, ones that forced the young girl to move upon her place and clear her throat. "Your majesties, if I may..." She began; breaking the crackling silence and making the three on the bed look in her direction, with their worried faces as evident as before.

She wasn't surprised when it was Queen Susan that spoke first. "You don't have to ask permission to speak to us, Juliet, you know that." And so she did; but the girl's manners (or what little of them she still had) left some things hard to let go of.

Still, she allowed a small smile. "Well, I only mean to put an end to that which be evident in thy faces, my Queen." She allowed, her hands holding of her skirts so tightly that one who did not know her might think her scared; yet those who  _did_  know her knew she ever had to be holding something in her hands, lest they begin to fidget as they seemed to always do. "Thy fear, as most else's, that perhaps the witch Aslan put an end to might have returned." They were words that mirrored the worry in the King and Queen's faces as they met each other's gaze, making of the tension they had not spoken of wrap around them as tightly as their blankets. "'Tis impossible." Juliet continued, making all of them look in her direction again. "I know to thee it might feel alike such a winter, but I can vow for my own place here as thy friend: it is not. As any old faun might swear to it alike, this winter be not alike the one before, for such cold came suddenly, from one day to the next, whilst the one befalling of this world now has come with time, alike many a winter in London or Verona. Thus, I beg, my King and Queens, fret not, 'tis but a normal winter, and not one brought through evil and witchcraft, I swear."

She didn't even know at what point she had done it, but young Juliet had moved closer to the big bed the three rested on and knelt to sit upon the floor beside it, her eyes worried and pleading with their majesties as much as her frame seemed to, even as the oldest Queen spoke to her. "You're sure?" She wondered, glancing at her siblings before meeting Juliet's amber gaze once again. "She's gone for good?"

Relief befell all of them when Juliet's head bobbed in a nod. "By the life gifted to me in this world's birth, I swear it." She said, resting a hand upon the sheets in the Queen's direction, yet daring to meet the other's gazes too. "Ask any creature living before the witch's reign, this winter be kind; the witch is dead, and her winter alongside her."

"She's right." Came then a voice from behind them, making the three on the bed turn about to face a door they had failed to notice opening moments prior. "The witch is not coming back."

Yet it was also a voice that made Queen Lucy's entire frame jump from the bed, dropping of her blanket as she sprinted in the direction the boy's voice had come. "Edmund!" She exclaimed, moving to hug his brother with the love she held for him; now not at all surprised when his arms wrapped around her smaller frame alike, his eyes looking in the direction of his siblings with the smallest hints of a smile lifting his lips.

Both Peter and Susan seemed to relax the moment the realisation that it was their brother calling from the door befell them, but only the older of the two dared speak. "Are you alright?" He wondered, the respite evident in the lift across his lips.

Without a word, over the truth that they were not the only ones in the room – for Juliet softly made her presence known by raising from her place beside the bed and placing a small curtsy for the coming King – and he only truly trusted his emotions to his siblings, the boy only nodded in affirmation to his brother's query, looking down at the youngest girl when she finally let go of him. "I was reading up on Narnian history and the seasons, to make—"

" _You_  were reading?" Susan interrupted, her lips lifting in a teasing smile as she let her tight grip on her blanket loosen slightly.

To no one's surprise, the boy only replied with a smiling "Shut up." Before looking at Lucy once again, who was smiling as widely as Peter and Susan in their amused means of teasing him, making the two on the bed laugh shortly before he spoke again. "Anyway, the bad winter is over." He continued. "I was only trying to find out if winter was normal in Narnia." He justified, his arms lifting to cross across his chest regardless of the tiny smile remaining across his lips. "And it is." He paused. "It's a lot like in London, actually. It means Christmas is near, too."

To this, the younger of the two Queens gasped. "You'll get to meet Father Christmas." She exclaimed, the excitement evident in as much her smile as the brightness in her eyes, and even more so with the tug on her brother's shirt.

"I guess so." He said, yet looking in the others' direction, even allowing his gaze to rest shortly on the girl by the bed before moving to rest on his siblings again; for he had not come to forget the means with which she had stood up to him and scolded him as if she were a teacher in one of his dreadful schools. It'd annoyed him, angered him, and even more so the look she'd sent his way when he'd looked back that day months prior, as if he weren't a King and she a Lady; but the remaining thoughts of Aslan's many words upon his rescue what felt like a lifetime prior continued across his mind, keeping him quiet, acknowledging her when he needed to (alike that moment) yet making him mostly ignore her as much as he could; specially when his own worry about the winter had finally come to a cautious end: thanks to his now slowly growing library.

All thoughts that popped like a bubble when he realised the others had been speaking; a realisation come with the next tug from his younger sister before her smiling frame moved away in order to run out in the direction he had come, with a loud "Come on!" Falling behind her; with no surprise to come, of course, when Lady Juliet made out into a run, after a curtsy in his and his siblings direction, in the very direction the youngest Queen had disappeared.

Lucy's disappearance confused him for a second long enough to frown, but when he noted the swift movements from Susan and Peter, who'd risen from the bed, and the latter of which was making for one of the drawers to pull out a pair of gloves, he understood: Lucy's call had meant they were going outside. "What?" He said, feeling his arms fall in their disbelief and slow reluctance to leave the warm insides of the palace.

Yet, as Susan moved past him after a soft touch of his arm, Peter spoke. "It'll be fun." He said, throwing a second pair of gloves (much too big for Edmund, but he didn't have any of his own, for the two pairs of gloves had been a coronation gift from one of the polar bears) in his direction. "Besides, if we can have fun in the snow, it might make some of the other Narnians stop worrying, don't you think?"

Well, Edmund couldn't argue with that.

♦

And so the five of them went outside, led by Lucy's smile and laughter, to play in the snow, ignoring the cold most of them felt over their lack of winter clothes, yet making of the world around them a warm bubble with the love, fun, and friendship that echoed from their snowball fights and snow-fort building. It was laughter that called all servants out of their rooms, even some of the Narnians living nearby out of their homes, for, exactly like Peter had said, the common thought was thus: If the Kings and Queens, who'd brought spring back to them again, could have no worry and play in the snow, then all sense of danger was gone.

A peaceful winter had finally come.


	5. Chapter 5

 ─ ♚ ─ 

"Well, keeping them prisoners isn't going to work for much longer." Queen Susan said; leaning back on her chair and releasing a soft breath; making the two years that had passed within the Pevensies' reign become evident in her posture. Yes, two years had passed; two years spent wholly set on the finding of all the creatures that had betrayed Aslan and made of Jadis' attempt of an eternal winter much easier than it should have been. "There's only so much space in the dungeons." And that search had become tiring, more for their numbers than for the times they had captured someone else.

It was for their numbers, in fact, that the conversation had even come to take place, for there had been an incident that morning, one where the General of the Narnian army had failed to know where to place a brand new prisoner of the still fresh war, for the dungeons were almost full, and due to the prisoner's nature, he could not be placed in any of the cells, for they were occupied, and the prisoner, violent. And so their majesties came to be sitting in the great meeting hall that afternoon, with none but one other soul in the room, Lucy's headstrong Lady, Juliet Capulet, whilst knowing that the violent creature that had been captured rested trapped in the closest room to the dungeons hall, guarded by four soldiers, and bound with chains and heavy iron locks.

Their time to put off that which could come to be their most dire decision yet had officially run out.

With a sigh to match his sister's, King Peter spoke: "I never thought they'd be so many." He said, lifting a hand to brush his newly trimmed hair and sharing a glaze with Susan at his left. "So many of them fell in the battle."

"Yes, but so many others ran." Susan countered. "It was an army, Pete, in the thousands, at least."

"Slightly less, your majesty." Lady Juliet said, now much more confident within her speech to the Kings and Queens than before, for after two,  _nearly_  three full years of serving Queen Lucy and (almost fully) befriending the other three (one less than the rest), the girl's wit had come to be shown in many more ways than one; from being playful with the High King, to teasing the Gentle Queen, even to stating opinions or quick retorts to the one who continued to refuse to be as friendly as the others were with her. With time, their friendship had grown, and the result was their complete trust in her, their value for her word, and above all, the belief that she could act as much more than Lucy's Lady when the moment called for such a thing, as was that moment; only the third of the times she was allowed to a meeting in the great council hall. "I do believe it be the hundreds, for you would be surprised, perhaps pleasantly, at how many Narnians refused to let the Witch scare them into submission."

"Lucky for us." Peter said; gifting young Juliet with a small smile as his head bobbed in a nod.

One easily fighting with the Lady's shaking head. "Nay, t'was not luck, your majesty; t'was the prophecy, something much higher than any of us combined, it was fate. They could have come by the thousands, but thou wouldst still have won."

And that, regardless of how much the older Queen wanted it, was the one thing she could still not believe regardless of how many people did. "What matters now is not the numbers of before." She said, shutting down the conversation before Peter could say something else, but still looking at Juliet sat across from her before she spoke again. "You have been here a long time," She began, making those big amber doe eyes of the Protector's focus on her entirely. "Which means you know the people of Narnia well, am I right?"

All the girl could do was nod and part her lips to speak before the voice of the Just King fell across the room in a gentle sweep: "Hang on, why are you asking her?" He said, pushing himself off of his position on the chair and leaning against the big rectangle table instead, not even noting the way his brother took a deep frustrated breath beside him. "No, better yet, why _is_  she here? She might be a friend of the crown, yes, but this is a big decision, isn't it?"

"I asked her to come!" Queen Lucy said, speaking for the first time in a couple of minutes and reaching for her Lady's hand beside her, reassuring her; yet fully aware that she spoke at the very same time in which Susan countered: "Yes, exactly, and we need all the help we can get."

"Then call the General!" Edmund offered, motioning with a hand to the closed door where he knew he had only to say the word and the guards out there would bring the man requested. "How can the point of view of  _Lady_  Juliet be of more help than the General's?"

"Edmund," Queen Lucy said, a small frown in the middle of her forehead making of that single word something strong enough to bring the retreat of the young King after he looked in her direction, for there was disappointment in that single spoken name, and above all, in her eyes, which rarely saw outbursts alike the one expressed by his brother at that moment anymore; none but when Juliet was around, or an old lackey from the White Witch's. But it was that disappointment that floored the young King, for in her eyes she could see Aslan's, and within them, the very disappointment He must feel were He to look over him at that moment the way Edmund very much believed He did most of the time: to see if the forgiveness He had gifted the boy had been worth it, to see if the traitor He had saved had truly mended, to see if the crown had not been wrongly placed atop his head.

In all honesty, that disappointment was like a punch to the stomach.

Thus, with a frown to match Peter's beside him, Edmund released a breath and relaxed against his chair's backrest once again. "Lady Juliet is more than just my Lady." Queen Lucy continued, attempting the explanation she was sure her brother knew but seemed to like forgetting; not at all surprised at the silence from Peter and Susan as she continued. "She's the oldest living creature in Narnia alongside the trees themselves, and that makes her unlike any other Lady in this palace; she's even revered like a saint would be in England, you have but to pay attention at the way others look at her to know it. Do you really think her help is unnecessary in this situation?"

To no one's surprise, the boy did not reply; instead, he simply looked in Juliet's direction, only to be met by her own amber gaze looking at him already and making his stomach plummet all the way to his feet; her eyes were shadowed by the worry in her expression, her lips pressed in what he had come to recognise as a slightly guilty line that refused to waver whenever something happened because of her, alike that moment in the silence of the hall; at least until Lucy called her attention once again with a nudge of her hand, making that heavy pool of amber fall from his stare and the anger return to his heavy heart, even if it was more against the truth of his lack of understanding of the nature of his own seething rage whenever the girl spoke than the situation that the Valiant Queen had soothed. He said nothing; instead, he simply kept the smallest of frowns invading his forehead and crossed his arms against his chest whilst looking at nothing but the perfectly polished wooden table before him.

To his relief, the tension exploded into a million little pieces around him the moment Lucy spoke once again. "I think... what Susan was about to ask was..." She looked at Susan, big questioning eyes wondering if what she was going to say was the right thing. "...what you think the people of Narnia would want us to do?" She wondered; though when Susan nodded rather stoically, the young Queen's gaze shifted to look at Juliet once again.

A girl whose very thoughts drowned her in that moment, for as much the truth that the Kings and Queens seemed to think much more highly of her than she deserved, as the continuous wonder over the younger King's hate onto her; for, truly, there was no other word serving of the purpose of the sentiment that he expelled toward her, no other feeling he gave other than mere loathing most of the time, and she wondered, oh how she wondered, how it had come to be, what was it that she had done to bring upon such hate from a person she had admired as much as the rest of his siblings; how mere indifference – as it had been within the first few months of their reign – turned into pure hatred that sent him in a rage of either a loud sort or the sort to keep him quiet with a raging stare like the one they had shared only moments prior.

All queries she had to leave for a moment later, lest her silence prove him right.

She simply gulped that knot in the middle of her throat and forced herself to speak. "Aye, your majesties, I know how most Narnians think," she began, blinking away her own confusion and wonder before she lifted her gaze to meet that of the three Pevensies who seemed to like her. "But I must admit, so do you; and rather well, too." Somewhere in between Peter and Susan, a soft scoff echoed from the silent King.

But whether they ignored the sound, or simply did not hear it, the Lady's statement became something to which not only Lucy, but King Peter, both, smiled at. "Not like this." Queen Susan said regardless, placing both her hands atop the table and sharing a look with Peter for a couple of moments before looking at Lucy's Lady once again. "This is crime and punishment at a level we have not yet managed." She said. "It is not as if all these people did was steal some bread from someone else's table; they  _killed_  people, they sided with someone who wished to bring eternal misery to Narnia, and they lost. What are we supposed to do with them now?"

"Not what thy people might wish, your majesty, surely." Lady Juliet said, pausing only so she could make sure the others listened as well. "For some might wish them immediately be executed."

"We can't do that." King Peter said, surprising no one, yet at least stating the one thing most (if not all) of them had been too wary to even bring up; at least such an option was out of the table. "It would be blood shed unnecessarily, and too much of it. This war is over."

"But we also can't be keeping so many traitors in the dungeons together, can we?" Queen Susan expressed; the frown matching that of her younger sister's regardless of how the latter was silent. "What if they band together and then we have a riot of traitors inside the castle? Not to mention that werewolf chained in the room adjacent to the dungeons; I'm sure chains won't keep him down for long. What if the traitors—"

"Don't call them that." Peter interrupted upon hearing the same word fall from her sister's lips so easily for a third time; his eyes falling in the direction of his brother without exactly looking at him, whilst trying to push all the times he had heard his own brother be called such a thing far away from his mind. More importantly, the incident two days prior, when a prisoner, whilst being interrogated, had nearly cussed out Edmund as loudly as for the whole dungeon to hear;  _you ask that I tell you where the rest of us are? Look at the throne beside you, child, for your great Cat has crowned a traitor._

"Why shouldn't she?" Edmund easily expressed; looking in his brother's direction with the frown still in place. Although this time for a reason much more understandable than the rage fired within his mind barely moments prior. "They  _are_  traitors," He continued. "And so was I. The difference is that I realised that what I was doing was wrong and decided to fight for the right side." It was no surprise that those words killed all speech in the room, leaving all five of them to think, to do no more than pay attention to their own minds in good or bad dispositions, trying, hoping that the answer would fall upon them like the strike of a lightning bolt.

Yet the silence continued for no more than a few seconds; for, finally lowering his arms to rest upon the table, the younger King leaned against the polished wood and released a breath, his eyes focused on the furniture once again, as if it alone would not only give him the answers he searched for, but perhaps even make him forget the implications in his older brother's censorship. But the silence died away as quickly as the short gasp left from his lips, for suddenly his eyes widened, and the tight line of his mouth loosened into a relaxed expression of hope that made it very clear to anyone who looked at him that the boy had gotten an idea. "Edmund?" Lucy had noticed.

Barely a second later, the boy spoke: "I  _chose_ to change sides," He said, looking in his siblings' directions with the enlightened expression across his features, almost as if he expected them to get the idea without him even having to speak it; or less than almost, for such a thing seemed to be the very one he expected. "Don't you get it?" He continued, now evidently excited about his own idea. "I  _decided_  to leave the Witch's side because I saw what she did, I saw that everything she claimed to be was a lie, I saw how she brought suffering to all she touched, I saw that she was evil, that she'd used me, that—" He released a breath, clearly frustrated for the other's silence; even his arms flailed shortly. "I  _decided_." He repeated, bringing only his siblings' frowns, for they had focused only on the words of his betrayal instead of the idea he had evidently sprung up; the truth of how, for the first time since the first winter after their coronation, young Edmund referred to his time with the Witch out loud.

But not all in the room were aware of such a fact, for there was one girl the young King had kept at arms' length, and over the freedom of her mind lacking of the knowledge of the milestone recognised by the rest, the idea fell into her mind in the very manner the King had meant it to fall for the rest: "So maybe some of them can decide too." Juliet Capulet said; with those words breaking the silence that had reined for a couple of seconds, and making all their eyes fall in her direction again.

For the first time since the indifference changed to hatred, Edmund Pevensie looked at Lady Juliet with a smile across his lips, motioned in her direction with a hand, and simply said "Exactly," before looking at Peter at his side once again; clearly his excitement had scared off whatever emotion it was that drove anger in Juliet's direction in a normal basis. "Maybe we won't have to kill them at all," he continued. "Maybe we can just offer them to change sides, keep an eye on them, and keep all those who refuse locked in the dungeons, maybe even try building a prison somewhere to be able to keep them locked in separate cells, but the point is, maybe some of them will  _choose_  the right side too."

The excitement almost radiated from the boy, and the smile across his lips spoke of it as well as his words, something which made the High King look at his oldest sister with the hint of a smile lifting the corners of his lips. "That could work."

Something to which Susan simply nodded, a smile to match Peter's plastered across her lips in company of the relief fallen across her features even as she kept looking at her older brother's equally relieved and now even relaxed face; the excitement of which was added in the Just King's own face, for the truth was this: in only the course of a few minutes, three great things had happened at once; one, Edmund had spoken freely about his time with the Witch, the time when most had whispered  _traitor_ behind his back; two, for the first time in at least a year and some months, Edmund had been able to smile, and even be glad to hear Juliet's voice; but more importantly, three: when the young King's brown eyes moved to meet Lucy's blues, he was, once again, able to see pride shining there as much as the smile she gave him.

His little sister was proud of him again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTE & DISCLAIMER:** There is a brand new character being mentioned in this chapter that not only will continue to be mentioned in future chapters, but one that is also not my creation at all: Lady Athena Ashdown. Instead, she is a small happy loan from my friend Jas, who created her for her own Narnia fanfiction called Helpless, (which you can find in Wattpad under the username indigogalaxyjas) which is an amazing & very original Golden Age AU focused on Peter & Athena, a pairing I love as much as Juliet & Edmund, & has, thus, become entirely canon for me. Which is why Athena, as much as her romance with Peter, will be mentioned by passing in this story, or played out by what little bit of it Juliet or Edmund are witness to. I heartily recommend you read Jas' fanfiction, because it is truly the best fic I've read in my life thus far. Again, thank you for taking the time to read this story; it means the absolute world to me! Smile because you can!! x
> 
> ~Mel

 ─ ♚ ─ 

"Left, go left." The High King said, his sword singing against the wind as he moved it once again, matching his moving feet as they raised the dust from the field's ground and drove the boy forward, no mind over the thump the dull blade made as it made contact with his brother's arm. "Left, Ed!"

"I  _am_  going left!" The boy called, his brown eyes widening in reaction to the failure to match his brother's movements for what felt like the millionth time that morning; but say such a thing to his body, which hurt with exhaustion and lay soaked in his own sweat over the heat of that year's summer, making the entirety of the training session seem more like torture than fun, as it had come to become for the past couple of years. Yet another thump hit his belly, only to bring a loud groan of annoyance from the younger King and his hands to drop almost immediately en par with his words. "Alright, stop, stop. Enough." His sword fell loudly to the ground. "Is there any specific reason we couldn't do this in the coolness of the inner field? I swear this heat's making my sword weigh ten times what it usually does."

To no one's surprise, the high king seemed to release a short wave of laughter as he moved closer to his now thirteen year old brother. "Is that what you need to tell yourself?" Moving, if anything, so he could pat the other's arm regardless of the way his other hand offered the dull blade he had been using to spar with Edmund to one of the guards with a short "Thank you," and a smile, before even thinking of even looking at his brother again. "Or is your mind simply somewhere else?"

The younger boy's frame straightened from his prior bent position to look in Peter's direction, making the older boy's hand fall to his side, yet not doing much for the smile across his lips. "No, I'm pretty sure it's the heat." He said, the light tone he held only for his siblings echoing even in his still breathless voice by the time Peter began to lead them both to the table with refreshments set by the kind faun, Ms. Jaeland, for whenever they might need them. "Where would my mind be?"

Making no mind of the sound of their guards setting everything in place for the next day's session, Peter's shoulder lifted in a motion he wished to make mindless as he reached immediately for the picker with water. "Perhaps the same as I?" Peter wondered, not taking too long before he offered his brother a cup and watched him down the liquid as if he'd never drank a drop before. "Blimey, will you slow down?" The King smiled, for he had not even had time to reach for a cup of his own before Edmund already offered him, empty, the one he had been given.

"What's in  _your_  mind?" The younger boy said with a smile to acknowledge the other's warning as one of his arms lifted to wipe away all the sweat dripping down his forehead onto his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

The High King decided to hydrate himself before daring to reply. "The positions at court?" He allowed, releasing a satisfied breath before making his hands focus on serving both of them a second cup regardless of how his eyes kept dancing from his serving to his brother and back again.

Edmund's brows lifted in surprise. "What, still?" He wondered reaching for the newly offered cup; this time only taking a couple of sips before speaking again. "I thought we already had."

To his surprise, Peter's head shook. "We chose  _the army's_  positions; the new general confirmed it all this morning."

"How's she doing, by the way?" King Edmund wondered after nodding, raising his glass to his lips yet pausing for a second before drinking. "You still sure she's the right one for the job?"

"Mm." The older Pevensie replied, nodding his head whilst he swallowed his water, and even leaning slightly against the table with the refreshments. "Now more than ever." He finally said, once he set his cup down on the table. "Lady Athena was just the best fighter in the army, now she's the best leader. I'm glad Susan mentioned her."

Edmund simply nodded, for he liked the Lady (now General), but held absolutely no opinion on her skills as a fighter; it usually was Peter she sparred with. "Alright; good." He allowed, making a short mental note to perhaps ask her to a sparring session soon... when the weather was slightly more amiable. "What other positions are there, then?" He then wondered, putting the work that was already done away from his mind.

"Those at court," the High King repeated as his hands began taking off his training armour. "The palace, I mean. Those who clean, those who are in charge of those who clean, those in charge of treasury and so on; all of those that are leaving us due to their age."

To this, King Edmund frowned. "Isn't that Susan's job?" Clearly he was exhausted, and his echo of short complaint showed it if his attitude didn't.

Peter's head shook once again. "Not anymore." He informed. "She chose to take care of the injured, and basically became head of the infirmary."

"What?!" The younger King exclaimed, his voice breaking more for the shock of the news than the puberty that had for months now called his name. "Why didn't I know about this? Susan? Are you sure?"

The High King simply nodded his head, regardless of the short amusement shown across his smiling lips over the breaking of the other's voice. "Yeah, I was surprised too." He said regardless of his mirth. "She said she refused to go to war, but she still wanted to help; and since Lucy  _will_ go in battles with us regardless of what I say—"

"As it always should be," Edmund interrupted with a grin across his lips.

Bringing no more than the plain lack of amusement from his older brother's expression before he continued with his speech: "—Susan thought helping those injured would be better than sitting in her room or throne waiting for everyone to come back; so there you have it."

The young King seemed unable to do more than shake his head for a moment regardless of how his hands had begun moving to remove the chainmail that still weighed him down. "So we're to fight without our best archer, that's what you're telling me?" He wondered; looking up at his brother with curious disapproval, evident by the means with which he looked at Peter with a short narrow of his eyes and a small frown; all features that dissipated when the other said nothing and, instead, simply shrugged. "And not just that, but now we have to do her job too?" Edmund continued. "That doesn't seem fair at all."

"Well," the High King began, placing his own chainmail on the table with the refreshments before simply leaning against the very same whilst resting his arms atop the helmet pressed against his stomach. "She  _did_  say she was going to go on and teach Lucy how to use the bow properly, then it wouldn't be much of a loss." He continued, releasing a breath. "Besides, you know how she is," His eyes even almost rolled, enough to make his younger brother smile. "She prefers to worry about the parties, the balls, what we're wearing... she was great at the battle of Beruna, but I don't think it would be fair of us to ask her to keep fighting if she doesn't want to."

"No one asked  _me_  if I wanted to." Edmund countered, holding onto his removed chainmail and raising his brows in near challenge to the High King.

"That's because we all knew you _would_ want to." His brother responded.

"Yes, well, I would still have liked to be asked." Edmund continued. It was a statement that made Peter's smile break into short laughter as he pushed himself off of the leaning position he'd been on. "Anyway, can we please head back inside? I'm off my armour, but I still feel like this heat is pulling me down into the grass to never get up again."

Peter laughed once more, but humoured his brother by nodding and leaving the helmet on the table beside his chainmail before turning in allowance for the walk that would lead them to Cair Paravel's doors. "Let's; but we should also talk about the positions at the castle while we walk, Ed. It can't be left for later; Ms. Jaeland is going insane with all the duties left behind by Susan."

To no one's surprise, Edmund's eyes rolled in short frustration to match his pace, even as he raised a hand to wipe away more of his sweat with the sleeve of his white shirt. "Why can't Lucy do it?"

"She's busy with the Archenland alliance." The High King easily replied.

Edmund sighed. "Fine; why can't  _you_ do it?" His hands fell back at his sides.

To no one's surprise Peter's words echoed with the smile his lips were raised in; he was most definitely amused and well even a little bit frustrated with his brother's continuing means to do nothing for the rest of the day. "Because," He said, giving his brother a playful shove that at least made the younger King smile. "It's a big decision, seeing as how we're going to have to live with the outcome of it for a long time, and I trust your judgement." He paused. "So, help me out."

And Edmund was about to speak with the quickest form of wit he'd felt coming for the first time in the day, yet before he could, the soft familiar playful laughter from their younger sister came like a toot from the open doors of the castle just before the youngest Queen herself came bolting out of the door. "Come on, you're faster than that!" Her playful voice called to the darkness behind her, just before her eyes focused on her siblings and, without even stopping for a second in her run, she called "Hi, Ed, Hi, Pete!" and continued running with a wild laughter even as she looked behind her for whatever person might be on her trail.

"Busy with the Archenland alliance, you said?" Edmund told his brother without more than a glance; but not could the older King comment nor speak with the truth of the amusement that crossed his expression for a second or two over having been interrupted upon their trail to the open doors by their playful sister, before another figure bolted from the darkness made by the bright sun outside and the lack of light inside; the figure was that of fair Juliet Capulet, whose long brown curls rested in free flying waves upon her shoulders, and whose lilac gown flew wildly behind her mostly by the silk train and sleeves even as she held onto a little bit of her skirts as to, Edmund guessed by remembering his sisters sometimes doing the same, not fall by stepping in some of the long fabric. The smile across her lips lit her entire face, making the amber of her orbs seem brighter than usual, and bringing about an unexpected pair of dimples that neither King had noticed was there when she smiled before.

When the young girl stopped before the two and greeted them with near lack of breath, Edmund's stomach, as it seemed to always do for the past year and a half whenever the two encountered each other, dropped in a heavy fall, and his throat seemed blocked by the sort of emotion he could only describe as hate or annoyance, leaving him unable to do more than nod in her direction regardless of the simple "Hello, Juliet, " that his brother was able to mutter for the both of them.

The truth of the matter was that the young King did not understand the rush within his stomach, nor the knot in the middle of his throat, and that mere lack of understanding was enough to place the name of hate upon the emotion at all, given that such was the only feeling he had ever felt that could bring such sensations to his body at all, and he did not know (or  _could not_  know, given his young age and the fact that, before living in Narnia, the only contact he had had with other girls was the sort young kids are forced into) that the emotions rolling inside his stomach so wildly were not that of hate, but something much more complicated and unexplained to him that could, in the end, turn to have the name confused with loathing over the nature of the young King.

Funnily enough, the sensation in his stomach, and the frown in the middle of his forehead, both dissipated the moment the young girl with the wild wavy hair and lilac gown of silk details left and disappeared, running, in the direction Lucy had run off to.

He seemed to relax almost immediately. "What about Lady Juliet?" Came the voice of his brother beside him, bringing the frown back to the middle of Edmund's forehead as they finally moved to make their way in from the place the two girls had come out of.

"What _about_  Lady Juliet?" The young King wondered, looking in Peter's direction as if he had asked the most ludicrous thing even as one of his arms rose once again to clear out sweat out of his forehead.

His reaction only seemed to make his brother's brows lift in curiosity before he spoke. "The position?" He prompted, momentarily wondering if Edmund had forgotten what they spoke of for one simple distraction in their way. "What say you to making her head of the household?" He continued. "I do think she's loud enough for that; not to mention she did tell me she is sometimes bored when Lucy is tending to matters of state and she can only sit near her, reading. And that wit of hers..." The High King shook his head in short amusement as he looked back to his brother, who had already begun to shake his head. "Why, I think she could easily battle you in a test of wit, Ed."

A short scoffed breath left the young King's lips with a short mutter soon after to follow. "She sure likes to try." Though, against his best attempts, the volume was not enough for Peter not to hear (hence the High King's smile); still, he soon after spoke in a louder note. "There has to be someone better for the position; what about Ms. Jaeland? She's nice."

It was Peter's turn to shake his head. "She's master of the kitchens; she already has to deal with the cooks and kitchen maids." He paused. "It'd be too much for her."

"Fine; then someone else." Edmund continued, following along his brother's steps as they echoed in the big halls that lead to the stairs and the division of wings for each of their majesties. " _Anyone_  else; what about—"

"Alright, stop." King Peter said, stopping at the edge of the stairwell that would lead to his chamber wing and turning in place, with a hand on the banister, to look at his younger brother, who halted his own step and looked at his brother with the frown still in place and a sense of curiosity and wonder plastered across his features for anyone to see. "Why do you hate Lady Juliet so much?" The High King wondered, watching as his brother's expression broke into the waters of disdain the moment the name was even spoken.

To no one's surprise, Edmund scoffed. "I don't hate her." He said, making Peter's brow raise in disbelief that was so loudly plastered on his face that even if he'd tried to, the young King would not have been able to ignore it. "I don't know," Edmund then said. "She's just annoying."

"How?" The High King wondered, for he found Juliet Capulet's presence rather soothing; thus inviting the frown invading of his forehead at the motion of being annoying in any one way.

A frown that very evidently frustrated the young King; if anything could be assumed by the loud breath released from his lips or the wondrous eyes that fell to the floor before he said, "I don't know," and his arms lifted to cross upon his chest. "She talks back all the time, and she's always clinging to Lucy."

No one would have been surprised for the single wave of laughter escaping the High King. "Edmund, she  _is_  Lucy's Lady, she is bound to be by her side all the time." He justified, taking one single step up the stairs yet refusing to stop looking in his brother's direction. "Besides, haven't you been listening? I just told you she sometimes gets bored having to be by Lucy's side even when she's sitting down looking at parchments."

"Whatever, I don't know." Edmund retorted, dropping his arms to his sides and turning to walk away from his brother, hiding the flush on his face or attempting to ignore the return of the sensation in his stomach and throat. If anything, he had to say: "She's still annoying." Merely for the sensations even thinking about her had already brought along.

Yet, still, even as he walked away, Peter was unable to stop himself from smiling too wide for the conversation, considering his brother's retorts and actions to the mere thought of Lucy's Lady and Protector; reactions which became the very reason the High King refused to let the young boy get too far before he said "Hang on," and stepped down the one stair he had climbed so he could look closer at his apparently flushing brother. "You like her." He said, the smile still very wide, teasing, and rather amused for the situation.

It was a statement so sure and so decisive that all Edmund could do was scoff, without turning around, lest he give his brother the satisfaction, and kept walking. "I really don't."

To his surprise, Peter actually laughed behind him. "By the Lion, Edmund..." He continued, following along until he had reached the younger King and placed a hand on his arm. "I think you have a crush on her."

At least  _that_ was enough to make the King halt and turn around with disbelief written across his features alongside the very disgust that echoed in his words when he responded with another broken "What?!" Making the situation all the much more amusing for Peter. "Ew, no." Edmund continued, pulling his arm away from the contact of his brother and shaking his head in pure disgust. "That's gross."

"Well, you are acting an awful lot like I did when I got a crush on Jenny Atwell." Peter continued, his brows raised and his eyes focused entirely on his brother and any reaction he could have had; when there was none but his questioning silence, the High King spoke again. "You tense up when she's around, you're unable to say anything, you get this look in your eye like you're going to throw up or something of the sort, you—"

"Stop it," Edmund complained, his head shaking right enough before his body turned about again, ready to head on to the staircase leading to his room. "I don't have a crush on her, that's well gross."

Peter's smile simply refused to disappear. "And why not?" He wondered, calling behind his brother with the amusement still playing with his words. "Why shouldn't you? She's a great lady, she's beautiful, and she's a Legend and near-saint of Narnia, imagine what the world would say if you ended up with her!"

Edmund was nearly running by now, but still managed to call back to his brother: "WELL, IF YOU LIKE HER SO MUCH WHY DON'T  _YOU_  COURT HER?" Leaving his smiling brother behind for the safety of his room and those people who would not tease him with ridiculous (to him) notions such as the ones so grossly disputed by his High King of a brother; making thus the only thing left behind in both brothers' minds when he did, and failing to hear the very words that eventually would come back to haunt him and make him regret ever encouraging Peter in his suit.

For, left behind, staring at the figure of his retreating brother, the sixteen year old High King responded silently and almost to himself: "Maybe I will." 


	7. Chapter 7

─ ♚ ─

As time passed in the Narnian court (with it all the Kings and Queen's birthdays) and the weather turned kinder, the youngest of the Kings had done as promised to his own mind and asked the new General of the army for a sparring session, making him not only like the Lady more, but find himself soulfully agreeing with the opinion from his older brother: Lady Athena Ashdown was definitely the most skilled and made to lead, making it so that if she hadn't been so before, Lady Athena had become a great friend of the Kings alike she already had been to the Queens now that she had become General. After all, it was not everyone who could throw the young King on his behind after merely three minutes into the fight, and the brunette of brown eyes definitely had been able to do such a thing; it had been so absolutely impressive that any sense of failure had left the boy's mind onto the agreement of the girl's position, even finding his admiration turning to amity as the General helped him up from the ground with a big smile across her face regardless of how it was a King she had beat down.

Yet, after a great sparring session, as ever, King Edmund felt the need for a bath; a hot one, where he'd be able to relax and forget he had duties waiting for him for the rest of the day. Duties such as judgement against the young ten year old who had stolen gold from one of his Lords; a thing he was well good at (he had not been named head of Justice by his brother for nothing), yet did not always entirely enjoy. Thus, it was truly no surprise at all that he wished to forget such a thing awaited him as soon as he was better disposed; and it was such a thing he was getting ready to do – ever even imagining the bath that so wonderfully awaited him – when the loud crashing of glass came down the hall opposite to the one leading to the stairs to his wing.

Blasted be the curiosity of the young King, for the suddenly appearing frown in the middle of his forehead gave company to halted steps that soon after moved forward when the gentle tone of a female voice echoed all the way in his direction with the intonation of a language he could only think to relate to bread or gangsters from America; he didn't understand the words, of course, but the sound alone, accompanied by the crash of glass on the floor became enough to lead the King to the source of the racket. And perhaps, if he had at all stopped to think and remember that there was only one person in the castle that could at all know of another language from  _his_  world, then maybe he would have known exactly who he would find once he reached the other hallway and looked into the other side of the only open door in the hall, allowing him the possibility of doing no more than roll his eyes and walk away into the peace that awaited him on the upper floor; yet, alas, he did not think, and for it, the sight that befell Edmund upon arrival to the source of the noise was one that not only made him release the soft echo of annoyance within a breath, but the frown that had already been there deepen enough to make his eyes narrow shortly: Juliet Capulet.

"What in the name of Aslan's mane are you doing?" He wondered loud enough for the girl to not only hear but to be dangerously startled upon that moment; dangerously for no other reason than the fact that she was quite literally balancing upon the top of the backrest of a trembling chair, her body stretched as high as it could, her fingers gracing the clay surface of a bowl atop a wooden shelf inside the room—a small square of a thing that would have been called a broom-closet in England but was called a cleaning room in Narnia—and the broken shards of what Edmund assumed had been what he had heard, spread all around the small floor and even out the door, making him step on a couple of crunching pieces upon his greeting.

Thankfully, though, the young girl had not tumbled to the ground like he'd been scared she might have, what with the trembling chair and her little less than secure position atop that thin wooden backrest. "Oh, King Edmund." Juliet said seconds after he had spoken, one hand moving to rest upon the place her magical heart hid as if that would make the organ stop beating so loudly, yet leaving her hold on the wooden shelf much more precarious than before. "Beg pardon, sir, you've startled me." Easily said, yet swiftly ignored, for no faster did she speak that her frame moved to the position she'd been found in, reaching her hand upward and doing no more than gracing that clay bowl with the tips of her fingers, her tongue out as if it were to make her be able to grab the bowl faster.

Edmund simply couldn't believe her. "What do you think you're doing?" He repeated, ignoring her words as much as she seemed to have done before taking a single step inside the room, crunching yet more glass under him. "You're going to fall." Not that he cared, of course (or so he told himself), but he very much would appreciate it if she fell when he wasn't around, thus wouldn't be obliged to help her and make sure she wasn't about to die.

Thus, the next step he took within the room, unable to say more over the quick response coming from the shaky girl atop that even shakier chair. "Nay, his majesty mustn't worry." She said in the soft echo of breathless sarcasm over the truth that she doubted he actually would worry about anything that happened to her, "My balance is great." She continued, not looking back, as she continued reaching up, now even more hazardously moving to stand on the tips of her toes upon that backrest as if it were not the stupidest thing she could do. "I am but getting this bowl for one of the cleaning Ladies, so she may continue her duty as I have bid her to." It made Edmund take another step forward regardless of the reminder that Peter  _had_ in the end given the position of Head of the Household to Juliet, like he had said.

Higher position or not, he simply wouldn't have it. "Get down from there this instant." He nearly spat, the frown deepening and his steps taking him closer to the girl and her dangerous disposition. "I don't want Lucy to blame me if you get hurt." Even his arms had begun rising, as if getting ready to catch her.

"She would not, sir." Juliet continued, keeping her eyes planted on the slowly nearing clay bowl and even speaking in some sort of effort-heavy tone. "Not if thou wouldst leave this moment, for I know what I'm doing, and thus, need no heeded warning since I am not in any danger."

"You're going to  _fall_ , that's danger enough!" King Edmund repeated, now inches away from her, and even daring his fingers to softly hold on to the hem of her dress, for it was perfectly in level with his hands; doing so over only the logic that perhaps if he held onto her somehow and she fell, she wouldn't actually fall too badly. "Get down!" Damn him for walking in her direction and getting involved in the first place; he could have continued with his day, and if she fell, he would be none the wiser for it.

Ignoring the huff that fell from the King's lips, Juliet's own parted in a short yelp, for the hold he took on her became enough for a gentle tug from the silk he held to pull on her frame with softness enough to not make her tumble down like a sack of potatoes, but strong enough to make her hands' hold on the wooden shelf more necessary than before. "I say, let me go, for thou wouldst  _make me_  fall." She called, listening to the shaking of the other objects on the shelf due to her quick hold and shaky frame.

But it was as if she had spoken in that foreign language once again, for the King heeded not her words and, instead, held onto her ankle by reflex the moment she even began to tumble on the chair once more. "Just get down from there and we'll both be fine."

"Nay, sir, let go!"

"I'm trying to help you!"

"I don't need any help!" But the understanding was none, for his hold on her did not waver, and her shaking only became wilder until even the tips of her fingers could hold her in place no longer, and all sense of balance left the girl before her frame fell backwards on the chair, crashing against the King's front enough for him to thoughtfully 'save' her by holding onto her middle with the arm that had been trying to help her, yet failing to stop them both from falling when the heel of his boot slipped on one of the glass shards, thus making them both tumble to the ground with enough force to take Edmund's breath away.

As if such a thing weren't enough, by instinct, the King had tried to lessen the damage of the fall by putting his free hand on the ground, forgetting entirely that there were shards of glass spread all over, thus making his palm land on one of the sharpest bits strongly enough to split his palm open, making of their fall a mess of limbs and clothes that made him wish to be able to scream out in pain, but one that made him unable to do so at all over the loss of his breath from their harsh landing on the floor. All made even worse by Juliet's wriggling in his hold alike her requests for him to let go of her, and the anger drowning him over the pain and annoyance of the other's fault on him being hurt in the first place. He even tried pushing her off, which was easier said than done over her movements and the silk of her clothes, which made her slip quite easily enough to land on the King once again and steal his breath alike, making his bleeding palm hurt even more, and his stomach feel as if someone had punched him with a giant's hammer. "Get off me!" The King wheezed, pushing the Lady with the hand that had been holding her and, regardless of his lack of breath, move himself upon the ground to try getting up.

He obviously could not.

"Wherefore hast thou insisted on not listening to me, you great idiot!?" Lady Juliet exclaimed once she was able to kneel beside the King, not only forgetting her place compared to the King due to her distress, but noting her hands hovering above him over the truth that she wished to help, but knew not what to do at that moment, for his voice was broken, his breath gone, and there was a small pool of blood near his head that was enough to alarm her over the truth that she did not, in fact, know the crimson river came from his hand and not his head like she thought. "GUARDS?!" She called, looking away from the wounded King for a short moment down the hall outside the door they rested halfway out from, and finally resting one hand on the King's unwounded arm. "Stay still!" She requested; a frown deeply implanted on her forehead and the tips of the long waves of her hair falling to grace Edmund's cheek. "GUARDS!!" She called again over the lack of response.

Thankfully, only a couple of seconds later, a pair of fauns had made their way to where she was. "Help me get him to the infirmary." And no more of import was said, for the girl attempted to explain to the guards what had happened with as much of an apologetic note as she could muster with her gentle rage and a wheezing and complaining Edmund between them all, all the way to the infirmary; even going as far as scaring the caretakers tending to other wounded or ill members of the court enough to stay back over the claims falling from her lips that she would tend to the King herself, for the situation had happened in her presence, and it was of custom in her world to tend to those one had seen injured if one could; and due to one of the many Protective duties given to her by the people who had given her spirit a purpose after her timely death in Verona, she knew one or two things about tending to wounds. Thus, she was left to her own devises after she had been given wet cloths, bandages, a bowl full of water, and some herbs, and the King had been placed on a cot no longer wheezing, nor speaking, and instead simply clutching his hand as if it were burning instead of bleeding.

Such was the way silence fell, with both Lady and King fuming within their own minds onto the carelessness of the other, and in his, more over her words and actions even as she began cleaning his wound; there was a frown adorning the middle of both their foreheads, and even the soft touch of Juliet's dainty hands was not enough to dissipate them. For, in her mind, the frown came from worry onto her own fault and place, the truth that there would be no wound if he had never come about, and the possibility that the great Head of Justice could sentence her to the worst for his troubles if he so easily willed; at least now that it was clear he wasn't dying, and it was his hand that had scared her to begin with. Yes, she was angry.

Alike him, over the things she had said, over her stubbornness, over the stupidity she had had to have in the first place to be balancing upon such a dangerous place as if she could very well fly; over his stupid sense of duty or the speck of gentle worry that had fallen against the pit of his stomach when the chair had trembled under her weight to begin with, as if he cared, as if it were more to him than just the truth that he didn't want something horrible to happen in his watch, lest he be blamed or worse; oh, he was angry. And it was all worse enough for the truth that, due to her brand new position, she had been able to order the guards around like the Great Lady she was, and been left alone with him over his inability to speak and ask her to be taken away at once; thus leaving him with no more than his shifting movements and annoyed grunts of pain brought from the stinging on his hand; by all else, he'd rather have the most horrible Mrs. Wright be tending to him in the rough means in which she had as head nurse in his English school than the soft touches from Juliet Capulet which seemed to hurt even more. "Will your majesty  _please_  stop squirming?!" The girl finally said after a couple of minutes within their silence, dropping the reddening cloth on the bowl of water to clean it further so she could continue her mending.

To no one's surprise, even with a slightly broken tone, Edmund quickly replied: "It hurts!" His voice was coming back; the pain on his back was disappearing, leaving just the stinging on his palm.

Even in her concern, Juliet could not keep quiet. "It wouldn't hurt so much if thou wouldst stay still!"

"I can't stay still because it hurts!" The King retorted, his voice slightly louder than before, thus allowing young Juliet to note his betterment with a sense of relief that perhaps only left the physical injury she tried to clean as the only thing to truly worry about at all; and she was about to say something to answer when he simply refused to let her and spoke again: "This is all your fault." He said, "I wouldn't be hurt if you weren't so stubborn."

Which was a statement that allowed the scoff of a sardonic breath to escape from Juliet's equally sarcastically smiling lips. "Nay, sir." She responded, taking the newly wet cloth from the bowl, yet keeping her pools of amber focused completely on Edmund's heavy gaze. "Thou wouldst not be hurt if thou hast listened to me when I said I knew what I was doing."

There was a sense of shock crossing the King's features as he shifted on the cot, trying to sit up. "You're the one who should have listened and done what you were told!" He exclaimed, pulling his hand away, thus leaving her holding the air with one hand and the wet cloth with the other, yet barely being able to open his lips to continue with his claims before her own words made it impossible.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong!" Even her eyes seemed as stubborn as she; both her hands resting now on the cot instead of him after the one time she had tried to reach for him had failed. 

"I got hurt trying to save you." He called, pulling his hand away from her reach again and wiggling on his cot to get up.

To no avail, for Juliet quickly held his wrist and softly pulled him enough to fall on the cot once again. "Your majesty will hurt thyself again if thou wouldst continue to refuse staying still." She called, attempting to still him once again. "And I didn't ask to be saved!" She said as she held onto his wrist, leading frown-shadowed eyes to the blood that painted the cloth pink as she pressed it to the wound. "Everything was going perfectly fine until thy majesty showed up."

Edmund scoffed. "Oh, so this is  _my_  fault, then, is it?" He wondered, trying and failing to pull his hand away again, yet looking heavily upon Juliet as he did so.

"Yes!" Not one of them was surprised by her response.

But still, the young King had something to say; heavy words, angry words, but also words that were immediately killed by the harsh sting coming from his hand, which not only made his eyes widen, but a loud "OW!" escape his lips enough to make Juliet's own meet his with disbelief and rather evident annoyance.

"Wilt thou stop!?" She said again, holding on his wrist still, yet releasing a puff of exasperation from her lips. "'Tis only water, sir; I am trying to help you!" She paused, the frown in the middle of her forehead deep alike his. "I swear, thou criest more than a baby when it's hurt."

And may it be the pain, or the words spoken by the Lady, but the concern Edmund had throughout his reign alongside his siblings up until then (that he was in a continuous trial of which his crown could be removed if arrogance showed alike when he was ten) dissolved in a short disbelieving echo in his following words: "How can you speak to me like that? I am your King!" He would definitely blame the pain for that one later on.

Yet the thing was that, due to her friendship with the queens and Peter, young Juliet had the confidence of a thousand hearts resting upon the single magical organ of hers; for she now rarely called the others by their title and instead by their names, she played with them, teased them, spoke to them like the friends they very much were. And for it, for that confidence and even worry, the only words that were able to leave her lips were thus: "Aye, sir; and a child by the looks of it, too." With her eyes deeply set on his and her hold on his wounded arm as tight as before.

Yes, Edmund scoffed, but at least now he seemed to be still enough for Juliet to continue her cleaning of his wound, even pressing a couple of the herbs left behind for her to the slash. "Please." He simply countered, leaning against the cot and crossing his free arm against his chest by show of his own displeasure. "You're barely two years older than me."

Finally able to focus on her work, even through her worry and annoyance, the girl found a smile lifting the corners of her lips at his words. "By looks, aye, your majesty, but not in truth." She confessed, barely looking at him for a second as the wet cloth attempted to clean more of the blood away by her hand. "I am more than a thousand years old in this world, and centuries old in the other." She paused. "Or hast thou forgotten I come from that world too?"

"If only I could." He said in a low enough voice to make Juliet ignore it; leaving such to be their last words for a few moments as she finished cleaning up the wound well enough for it to stop bleeding regardless of how he winced once or twice and tried to pull his hand again, inviting no more than a near deadly and annoyed glance from the Lady every time he did.

And thus was thought to be the end of their conversation by them both, their minds drowning strangely upon each other and the annoyance held by the situation even as her hands now softly attempted to bandage his wounded limb as gently as she could; yet the thoughts rolling within her mind allowed for no more than the outward expression of her most curious reality, and the one thing that, ever since the very first meeting she had been allowed to, had been tainting her mind with thoughts of hate in one way or the other: "Why doth thou hate me so?" Yet even spoken like that, so mindlessly and lowly and with the true evidence that perhaps she had not meant to say such things at all, King Edmund heard.

It made his eyes fall on her, his frown disappear, and the words from his older brother come tumbling within his head like a snowball down a hill; for, yes, young Edmund Pevensie thought he hated the girl, but there was something going on inside his dropped stomach that made him deny the sentiment whenever it was spoken, so it must be true: he didn't. It would be so much easier if he did, would it not? Would it? He didn't know; he was so young, in truth, and had no experience with any other sentiment that was not love toward his own family, or admiration for those who were supposed to be his friends; but Juliet? No, he could not entirely admire her, much less call her his friend regardless of how his siblings could. Not but for the drop of his stomach and that strange sensation he felt in which he couldn't breathe whenever he caught her smiling or laughing, or even joking with the rest, or the strange wing-y feeling within his chest whenever she answered back as if he weren't a King; it was a sensation so foreign that it annoyed him, and thus related it as if she were the one to annoy him in the first place. But hate? Apparently, no; no, "I don't hate you."

And the words were as mindlessly spoken as hers, with the frown much smaller upon his forehead as her eyes lifted to look into his, her expression a mirror to him alike, but more for concern and wonder than the mere strangeness that drowned his mind, the lack of understanding. "Then why...?" She began within the wonder of his utterance, for she truly wondered if it was true as she couldn't know it was: he did not hate her, no matter how hard he tried. And that silence, oh what a silence as they looked at each other, he gulped and her lips remained parted to let breath in easier to her lungs; even her hold on his now perfectly bandaged hand remained, and he didn't pull away, leaving the tension and annoyance splattered by both of them moments prior as no more than little momentarily forgotten butterflies floating above their heads. She wanted to speak, and so did he, but the frown in their foreheads stopped the other immediately; they said no more.

At least not until someone behind them sneezed in one of the other cots.

Juliet cleared his throat. "All done, your majesty." She said, her eyes blinking whatever had held her in place away and letting go of the younger King's hand whilst her eyes fell down to the empty space of the cot he used.

No faster did she let go that Edmund gulped once again, forced his frame to stand from the place and nodded a gesture Juliet missed before simply saying "Thanks." And leaving the room at once, and in it, Juliet; her heart heavy, her head confused, and her eyes doing no more than looking behind the disappearing King as he went. Making of her brain a mere mess that wondered simply one thing in his stead:

Indeed, why?


	8. Chapter 8

 ─ ♚ ─

_He fell loudly against the leaves, but something near him made him unable to care; instead there was a smile across his lips as he stood from the grass, not minding the sting on his almost fully healed hand as he leaned against it to push himself off of the ground. "Come on, then!" He called to the source of his smile. "I thought you said you could catch me." It was a source he could not yet see regardless of how his mind knew exactly who it was, even as his feet led him forward and away from the leaves that had made of his fall a soft one._

_And from somewhere near, the soft familiar laugh from that girl he could mostly not stand being around echoed happily, though he couldn't see; he didn't understand it, why his body moved so freely, why there was a smile upon his lips instead of a frown, why the strange stinging within his heart remained and he didn't hate it, why his stomach dropped at the sound of her voice but he didn't feel it to be for annoyance but something else, something unknown that made of him a mess lacking of all understanding that, defeated, had allowed some sort of... bond to form between him and she who so happily laughed behind him as he continued to run. "Why, I would have caught you already hath I been wearing what thou art, your majesty." She called, making Edmund's lips break in short laughter that echoed with his steps as he finally reached the steps of Cair Paravel's doors. "I beg, slow down, else thou wouldst make me fall for stepping on this dress!"_

_"I thought you were used to dresses!" The young King called along the echo of his musing laughter, though too young was he no longer, for his voice broke no more, and his steps took him further than his short legs once had: he was a young man now._

_"Aye, sir." The young Lady called, though of young she had only her appearance and ever playful disposition, smiling, laughing, making of all that saw her think her perfect for her position in Lucy's circle. "But not these long Ladies dresses made with softer fabrics than silk, and rest longer than any I have ever worn!" Complaining of the feat more often now seen on her given her newest position at court: Lady of the House._

_Still, the King did not stop, perfectly playful upon the girl's following, perfectly dallying as his steps made of their little game a more dangerous one if they were to fall, for the grass around the castle changed for the floors within it, his steps echoing down the halls, her heels nearing their toot close to his own, but above all, their laughter: meeting, joining like a beautiful chant of joy and affection that drove the King forward yet encouraged him to look back, seeing the girl's hair flying behind her in waves that would make even the mermaids jealous, stepping with such grace that would bring all ballet dancers to shame, dressed in a golden gown of silk and cotton that hugged her frame and left a lot to the imagination but made her the envy of any goddess if they existed at all._

_Oh, she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, with her wide amber eyes shining even as she followed with breathless speed, holding onto the front of her long skirts as to not fall with the so claimed softer-than-silk fabric that so sheltered her; her smile bright, making of her more than just a girl with endless experiences on Earth and Narnia, but a woman of dreams, hopes, and the loveliest sense of loyalty any man or woman had ever see. And her love... oh, her love..._

_Their steps continued to echo alongside her calls for him to stop and his challenges onto the lady who had taken hold of his heart in ways he never would have ever thought possible, following down hallways, halls, open and closed doors, curious eyes, and even different wings until the King made of his race a final one once he made it to his room and laughed as he closed the door, leaving the girl behind with her simply voiced "Edmund!" the echoing of her steps, and her heavy breath to fall on his ears as he fell defeated to his bed. He could still hear her laugh, her heels softly clicking upon the polished stone even as she stopped right outside his closed door, making of his own heavy breathing turn into the soft echo of laughter once the only thing audible from the other side of the big door was her voice and soon after the gentle knocking of her hand against the wood._

_Still unwilling to come in without invitation, it seemed._

_He stood from the bed, sweat claiming his forehead and trapping short strands of hair upon his forehead. "Why, I wonder who it could be." He worded playfully and loud enough for the one at the other side of the door to hear; something which became evident the moment he opened the door and he could see the young Lady standing there with her hands at her sides yet balling against the silk of the top of her gown, the beautiful golden fabric falling beautifully against her frame, her cheeks flushed pink from the running, her chest lifting and falling with the heaviness of her breath, her long curls sticking to her neck and forehead yet making her look the more radiant._

_And still then, the girl lowered her gaze and moved to lower her frame in a short curtsy as her lips, driven in the smile of her dalliance, remained regardless of her two simple words: "Your majesty." They were words which brought a short roll of the smiling King's eyes over the hidden sarcasm at such a gesture even by the time she stood tall once again and let go of the fabric of her dress at last. "I do beg pardon for interrupting thy slumber, but I have come in the name of thy royal sister, who—"_

_"Oh, do shut up." The King said within his smiling playful note, interrupting the girl's created tale with a simple reach of his hand for hers, pulling her into his room and against his frame quickly enough to cut her laugher short with a gentle kiss against her lips, holding her waist with one arm whilst moving away from the door and pushing it closed with the other, his arms finally falling upon hers and the short tumble of their movements breaking the two apart from their kiss to echo in the short laughter they shared. Oh, how they smiled even then, how their followed kiss broke with that lift of their lips regardless of their connection, how their steps led them to his bed until the two could fall upon it, how their hands wondered and made any playful situation as ardent as the passion that united their lips; even as his hand moved to her back in their search to free her from the gold of her gown, even as they rolled upon the bed and her hair became a wave of darkness upon his white sheets, a halo of beauty lit by the sun coming from the window, gifted to the magical creature he held in his arms and so ardently kissed; even with their continued kisses, even as her hand wondered and pulled the rough fabric of his shirt away from the edge of his pants; even then with their lips busy in each other's game, their hearts, the most important part of the equation, still smiled._

_A passion attempted to be broken regardless of their slowly disappearing clothes when the echo of a loud knock came against the door, making of their perfectly made bubble an interrupted mess of which the young Lady begged not burst at all. "Ignore it." She said, and he tried to, even called a "Go away!" to the door that became muffled by their joined lips and her soft laughter, but the knock came again, loud enough to make him jump, but he laughed against her kiss, and ignored it again, but still the knock repeated once more, and again, and again, and..._

...The boy sat up on the bed with enough force that the pillow that had been resting under him flew to the side and fell softly and noiselessly to the ground; there was sweat upon his forehead and chest, soaking his night shirt to the brim on its front, and his breath left his lips as if he'd ran the longest of distances by the time the knock came on the door once again, driving nothing more from him than a loud released breath from parted lips and a hand lifting to rub against his face. "Hold on a moment!" He called with breaking notes fresh from sleep as his every waking thought attempted to push away the touch of her soft hands from his skin, feeling its phantom against his chest, his arms, his stomach... he had to gulp, for he could still even feel her lips on his own, and he'd be damned if there wasn't something going on under the covers that he really didn't think would be good to answer the door with.

To his misfortune, the knock came again, for his voice had been so lowly expressed that his request for a moment had gone unnoticed; he had no other choice than to call a slightly louder "Hold on, I say!" before he lifted the covers only to confirm the unfortunate situation going on inside his sleeping bottoms; oh, if it was not so hot inside the room he couldn't blame the flush of his cheeks on anything else than the truth: his dream had had a definite effect on him. "Come on." He whispered, now finally annoyed unlike the version of him in his mind, and taking a deep breath regardless of how his body moved away from the bed as swiftly as he could make it; moving to reach for his robe, moving to reach his hand down his pants and push the disturbance aside, as if it that alone would make the entire situation disappear. And it wasn't until his robe's belt was tied around his waist and the garment could hide the entirety of his body down to his ankles that he finally even dared walk toward the door to open it, ready to greet whomever had disturbed him from what he would deny even to himself had been a pleasant dream.

Too pleasant.

He cleared his throat, and finally turned the knob; and what he found there waiting for him at the other side was enough to drop his stomach all the way to the ground and the flush of his cheeks to light them once again, for it was the very image from his dream: Juliet Capulet, standing in that beautiful golden gown she had worn to Peter's coming of age Ball; the soft transparent silk falling from her elbow to her fingertips, the train making a small golden pool behind her, and her hands balling against the bit of fabric hanging against her thighs within the rather nervous feat he had come to recognise upon her whenever the two happened to talk (or at least ever since that day at the infirmary); her hair falling in long waves of dark brown against her shoulders and back, making of such a thing the only difference between his dream and the truth standing before him, for her hair did not stick to her neck or her forehead. She hadn't been running.

As if such a thing was not enough, the moment the door opened and Edmund was fully visible upon its light, shortly meeting the gaze of the amber eyed girl, the girl's own eyes fell to the ground, allowing her body to move in the short gesture of a curtsy that definitely did not match that smile of hers or even the words she spoke: "Your majesty." That alone was enough to bring a knot to the young King's throat, for the memory of the dream was fresh, and even his hand felt the need to move and pull her alike he had done, so vividly too, in that mere happenstance of his mind. "I do beg pardon for interrupting thy slumber," She said once she stood tall again, letting go of her dress and linking her hands in front of her with enough difference to the echo of his mind to relax him some, even if the continuance of her words did not. "But I have come in the name of thy royal sister, who hath bid me come ask upon thy presence in today's meeting with the Archenland royals, which is happening as we speak."

To the surprise of no single corner of his mind, the King found his one free hand (the one not holding of the door) balling against the strange itch it felt to reach for the girl and make of that stupid dream of his something that could come true; but to his fortune, the hand that moved so harshly onto his control was the one that had been harmed the previous month, meaning that, though not pain, the motion of his nails against his palm brought enough of a discomfort to confuse his mind enough to forget about the images in his dreams; leaving a frown crossing his forehead and no more than a clearing throat to free his disposition to actually speak to the girl waiting for an answer right in front of him. "I'll—I'll be right there." He said, moving his hand to hide behind his back. "I did not know I had overslept."

The smile finally appeared across Juliet's lips once again, making of all strange polite expressions as she'd spoken of what she'd been sent for disappear almost immediately. "I'll say." She acknowledged; mirroring the image from his dream once again: the playful young beautiful woman that sent his stomach rolling in ways he absolutely loathed. "I have but just been knocking for an hour, sir. I was moments away from sending for the guards, thinking thee dead or gone." And at such a thought, even he could see the short concern crossing her big amber eyes. "Must have been some dream holding you hostage," She continued, bringing the King's eyes away from the girl and to the knot of his robe's belt. "At least 'twas what Nurse used to say when I would not wake the moment she called for me, that or—"

"Please, Lady Juliet." He interrupted her; more politely than he ever had; if anything so he could stop the sound of her voice falling against him as it had but a moment before inside his head. "I must get ready. Please, tell my sister I will be there immediately." Yes, immediately; he had to make her go immediately, for he suddenly had to make sure his robe covered him well enough to hide the sweat stains on his clothes alongside the discomfort that had returned. For, at her smile, at her words, and at the ease of her movements, he could see on the light of the hallway, the way her skin had looked under him on that blasted dream; the way her hair shone under the sunlight falling from the open window onto his bed and the halo of darkness on his sheets, the way her lips had moved on his, for he could feel the phantom of their kiss, even as she nodded at his request and the lower became trapped under her teeth in that familiar bite of nervousness or playfulness that he had seen on her only a couple of times during meetings or whilst she talked to his brother, hiding a smile.

Thankfully, though, with not even a goodbye, the girl turned around, holding onto her skirts one more time so she could walk as quickly as she willed to and making her hair fly behind her in waves of onyx that brought upon the smallest of lifts in Edmund's lips; a smile that was forced to disappear the moment it was acknowledged by its wearer when the girl's moving hair revealed the string ribbons holding the clothes to her frame.

Stings which he had pulled and tugged on to free her from its traps inside that dream of his, freeing her flesh for him to kiss, to touch, to...

He had to gulp again, moving as quickly as he could to close the door behind him and rest against it for a moment or two with no more than a single "Oh no." Falling from his whispering lips as both his hands lifted to rub against his face, as if that could erase her smile from his mind, or the kisses in his dreams, or the ghost of her touch against his flesh which made the hairs on his arms stand on end over the memory of something that had not happened anywhere other than his head.

What the hell was his mind doing to him? And above all: how the hell did it  _dare_  do it without asking his permission first? 


	9. Chapter 9

─ ♚ ─

"Oh, Nurse." Kind Juliet said, her brush dropping from her startled hand with a pop onto the table where her perfumes were held – her powder, her brushes, her jewellery, everything one might think she needed to get ready for a brand new day, yet the only ones of which were truly used were her jewels and hair pins; for she happened to bathe quite often, and she was not much one for make-up. "Oh, sweet Nurse," She called again, her now free hand resting against her chest over the need she felt to relax the magically beating organ within its cavity; for it was not often that she saw her own Protector on the mirror of her room (not that she  _had_  had a proper room to call her own before becoming a Lady to Lucy Pevensie). Oh, no; in fact, the only moments the Protector dressed in her Nurse's face came to her were ones when she was to be pulled away from Narnia's warmth into the body of another, for protection of their own life, for duty onto the soul-mate that would be claiming of their own, to forget anything she lived whilst she was not needed and think of nothing but her duty as Junior Protector to all destined to love.

It was for it that the amber eyed girl was startled, for never before had the image of the woman who had been her own Protector (and had failed upon the saving of her soul) come to her so soon after the previous time; soon, considering the truth that the young soul knew of the workings of time within and out of her precious world of Narnia, and the last time the woman had come to her had been upon her duty making of her an absentee in the biggest battle of Narnia since the beginning of the White Witch's reign: The Battle of Beruna. A battle that had happened not but five, six years prior at most, making of the time since she had failed upon her duty outside of her beautiful magical world perhaps no more than a week or a day out there, if even a moment at all; so how could the old Protector be looking at her from her mirror again? "Wherefore art thou here, sweet Nurse?" She wondered, finding her hands lowering from her startled disposition to rest upon the soft material of her night dress within the nervous tick that had forever been her own: to take hold of the folds of her clothes as if they alone could protect her from it all. "Am I needed, oh, so soon?"

It was the worry in the girl's voice that made the old woman in the mirror frown. "Nay, child, are you alright?" She wondered; curious tired orbs of ocean focusing on her ward's own; tired only because such was the image of the old Nurse when the Protector in charge of Juliet had possessed her. "I've come only to apolgise."

It was sad, as it would be for anyone who knew of the girl's famously known short life, to see the relief come in Juliet's face; after all, not being needed meant staying in her beautiful life-giving world, the place where she could feel again, sleep again, simply  _live_ again unlike the endless empty mist she had endured before the world of Narnia had been created in its place. The relief allowed her hands the comfort of letting go of the soft silk of her gown. "Apologise?" She echoed the breath evidently being released alongside her words as she moved to place the fallen brush properly on its spot on the vanity desk. "What for? What hast thou done?"

Finally the confusion disappeared from the woman's tired eyes, as the echo of frustration fell from her wrinkled lips. "Oh, I forget time in thy world works differently than any other." She paused, the image on the mirror shaking shortly alike her negating head. "Blast that Lion for making it so, communication with thee hath been ey'r more difficult since Narnia was created."

"Nay, nurse, curse thy tongue." The girl candidly said, anger lighting her features as a step took her slightly away from the mirror and the desk, her long waves of auburn dancing with the motion as her hands found themselves balled to fists on her clothes once again. " _That Lion_ , as thou callst him hath given me life again, and nay'r will I stand thee to talk ill of him in front of me," She paused. "For I can't know what thou sayth behind my back, but nay, good Nurse, even my love for thee could not make me allow such utterance."

At least the old woman released another breath, yet this one seemed more defeated than discontent. "Aye, I have done." She said, a hand appearing upon a wave to Juliet's words, making the young girl miss the woman who had cared for her (unlike the copy upon her mirror) more than ever before. "Thou wouldst do well to remember thy place, child, and remember to whom thou speaks't" she scolded. "But I will not deny thou art right, thus my apologies pile up."

At last, Juliet relaxed once again, the fire of her words dissipating with the scolding of the old woman's voice. "You speak of apology but I can think of no wrong thou hast done me before thou cursed Aslan's name, what could you possibly mean?"

"Well," The woman began, her eyes lowering within the frame she visited from. "I know not how long it has been for you, dearest Juliet, but 'tis but no longer than two days since I sent thee to a fool's errand, thus I must apologise." So Juliet had been right; not too long had truly passed since she had been called away at all. Yet the reminder of the misfortune revived her own displeasure upon her failure, regardless of if it had been years since she had confessed of it to her Queen and she had forgiven her for them both. "'Tis the Lifeless, who hath gotten stronger and made of our duty the most difficult." The old Protector paused. "But, nay, I come here not to worry thee onto troubles that are not yours, but to apologise," She looked at Juliet again. "For pulling you into duty when it was hopeless. I should not have done such a thing."

Having not realised she had truly looked down until she had to look up into the image of her Nurse, Juliet's gentle frown remained as she spoke. "Why did you, then?" She wondered, ever the candid speaker to all ever since her unfortunate death, for the anger had returned, a result of the sorrow that could finally be put somewhere that was not her own mind; that was what the Protectors' confession had brought along. "Why?" She repeated upon the other's silence. "If thou hath known it hopeless then why pull me away and make of me a failure upon my duty there as much as here, for thou hath pulled me away in the midst of battle, and for it I could not aide the Kings and Queens upon Beruna. Aye, victory was achieved, but I felt a coward run from battle only to come back when all was well, and t'was not me but thee, oh Nurse, who made it so; not me, but—"

"Wilt thou stop with talk of that world of yours?" The High Protector interrupted, staring as harshly upon Juliet's raging frame as the young girl was; even more so when the Junior Protector's eyes widened. Though, to a being as old as the Protector wearer of Nurse's face, the gaze in Juliet's eyes was not but a kitten's looking into a Lion's own. "'Tis of no importance to Us what you do or not within the Lion's creation, do you not understand? 'Tis an inconvenience for you to be there, not a gift!"

"Then why keep me here at all?" The girl easily countered, the rage turned fire within her words regardless of the ease with which her happiness could come to an end; for what if the Protector did exactly as she challenged? "Why not pull me away at once and be done with thy inconvenience?"

To her surprise, the Protector in the mirror scoffed. "Oh, that we could we would have, believe you me." She said, reminding young Juliet strongly of her true Nurse once again upon the expression the image on the reflection wore. "But 'tis not Us who keep thee there, nay, thou canst be sure of that."

"Wherefore doth thou lie?" The girl then exclaimed with the surprise and disbelief that tainted her features making her take yet another step away from the mirror and find her hands turning into fists again; her frame leaning forward as if she truly could yell at the old woman, as if she were physically there. "Who else could it be but thee, when 't'was thy hand who put me here." She continued. "I beg, speak! Explain to me why thou leav'st me here to care for this world and have it care for me? Why allow me to experience life again? Why lie and say it was not thee, when 'tis thee who hath set me in this broken place to start; or hath thou forgotten that? For aye, 't'was nothing before Aslan gave it life, but when 't'was nothing 't'was thy hand who set my lifeless soul prisoner alike." She paused, noting the mere shock on the old woman's face. "Couldst thou not have pulled me from the nothingness gaining of life before it reached me? Couldst thou not have sent me to another endless nothing of thy own creation, couldst thou not—"

"Oh, child, hast thou learnt nothing?" The old Protector interrupted, shaken from her shock upon the other's words at once. "There are powers even We cannot stand in the way of, and thy Lion be one of them; Love be one of them, or hast thou forgotten thy duty already?"

"How could I when thou hast sent me to experience the betrayal of someone else's dagger once again?" Juliet easily reminded; and perhaps she should have stopped; done as the Protector wearing of her Nurse's face had warned before and remembered her place, remembered she was no more than a lowly Protector, nothing like the old woman who stared back upon her mirror, not like the true Love's Protectors at all. But by her rage, she could not. "Nay, leave me to my Lion, I say." She called, even lifting a hand waving away of her Nurse as if she really were the old woman who had brought her up and not a high Protector using a familiar face to speak to her. "If thou hath truly no power over him then leave at once and come no longer 'less it be to call me to duty once more, for I made a vow and I keep my word: I have a duty to behold, and I shan't turn my back on it. Thus leave!" She called again, taking yet another step back from her vanity desk and the image of the Protector within her mirror. "Leave and make of me not thy friend with mindless apologies and empty words, leave and think of me as no more than one more Lowly Protector under thy command."

"Juliet," The image in the mirror tried, noting the tears that had begun to grow upon the young girl's amber eyes.

But the old Protector should have known, for the face it wore was one she had before possessed during Juliet's human years long enough to know the truth of the young Italian's mind: when anger had taken hold, none but her mother could put a calm to her temper; and it was so now, when Juliet yelled her rage within a single word to the image where her face should look back at her: "LEAVE!" Making the old Protector unable to say more over the shock of the girl's words and emotions sorely taking hold.

Though perhaps it should not have been so, for Juliet Capulet had always been one to make of an emotion a whole tempest; after all, such had been the reason her love had been strong enough to even be considered Protector material. Thus, the old woman simply bobbed a nod. "Aye." She said; no more but the seriousness of her entire disposition shown onto the disbelieving image of a crying Juliet. "Until you are needed, then." And thus, she left.

It truly was no more than a few seconds after the image on the mirror was that of Juliet's reflection once again that the girl turned around upon her place and cried; willing to see the reddened eyes and wet cheeks of her shock no more, and instead moved away from it and the memory of the merely ended conversation with the sole purpose of walking and falling upon her bed, as if it could comfort her, as if it could dissipate her anger and her sudden hatred for the Protectors and their cause as easily as she knew her true Nurse could; as she had, in fact, long before the monstrous Romeo had come into her life with pretty eyes and promised words, when her mother had come to her for the millionth time with words of growing up after she had fallen and scabbed her knee within one of her runs through the vineyards, for her first monthly bleeding had come but two weeks prior, and nothing could calm Lady Capulet's exclamations that Juliet had to mature into the woman her body was ready to become.

 _Nay'r a woman, my Lady_ , her true Nurse had said – long before the woman had been possessed by the Protector who failed Juliet's soul – within the girl's forever loved native tongue, soothing brushes upon her hair attempting to comfort the tears come by the Lady's scolding.  _She is but a child still,_ she had continued that day,  _lest we think my beloved sister's eight year old child who bled for the first time but two nights past a woman too, imagine that._ It had been such a truth spat through kind words that even Lady Capulet had been able to do no more than part frustrated from the girl's room, leaving a crying Juliet behind and her Nurse, who so gently comforted her and tried to mend her bleeding knee, becoming the girl's only true solace in such a cruel world.

Oh, that she could have that now, that she could feel anything but what she felt upon that moment: abandoned, used, wronged for more than Montague's knife upon that dreadful night, that she could have her beloved Nurse back at her side to clean her tears, for yes, centuries upon centuries had passed, and experiences had made of the young naive girl her Nurse had known into the strong young woman crying sorrowfully upon that bed, but not one day passed when she did not mourn for the one person most loved of them all, she who had been her true mother unlike Lady Capulet. "Oh, Nurse." She cried, because for so long she had not missed her as much as she did that night, when the creature who had failed to protect her had used the woman's face for the millionth time.

And thus her tears remained, making of her pillow a mess and her chest an ache that could perhaps be considered heartbreak within the girl who felt everything too strongly; and nothing would calm her for what felt like hours. Nothing but this: when suddenly, from the silence around her came the echo of a voice so deep, warm, and loving that the only way it could be described was not but that of a grandfather, speaking only of her name: "Juliet." It was a voice so easily soothing that it could cure anyone's sorrow, one that could bring happiness to anyone who lay eyes upon its owner, one who stopped the girl's tears as much for comfort as for the shock that the voice itself brought along as her head rose slowly from the pillow it had been resting on so defeated; for she knew the voice as much as if it had been her own, but its presence in her room was as unexpected as the Protector's own visit had been. Who else could it be? Oh, who else but the very creator of her world and her second life...

"Aslan?" 


	10. Chapter 10

 ─ ♚ ─  

The name of her saviour left Juliet's broken voice with the hope and surprise it intended; broken for no more than the tears that had made of her pillow a mess and her heart an art work; as her frame attempted to rise from the sheets wrinkled by her landing and her eyes focused their water stained amber on the figure of the great Lion standing in the middle of her room; his big eyes focused on her, the smile lifting from his cheeks making the whiskers adorning them raise slightly. He was there; Aslan was there, looking at her as if he were a proud father and Juliet Capulet could not for the love of her do more that simply stare and repeat his name within the relieved breath of her joy as she looked down and knelt upon the bed for the respect and adoration she held for him. For such was the difference between the Lady and her Queen: Lucy would have broken into a run to wrap her arms around the Lion's mane, but Juliet, oh, gentle Juliet living of much too many years who had never known the affection of a father or the embrace of a brother and had only been taught thus during her many talks with Aslan, could only kneel before the creator of her world. Though it was not to be confused with lack of love, for her love for the Lion had been proven moments prior within her conversation with the High Protector, but Juliet had never been taught to embrace those she loved, but kneel before them, respect her father like the Lord he was, be poised with her mother like the Lady she was supposed to be, never kiss, never embrace, but forever love.

She had only begun breaking from that mold after Aslan's love, who had so taught her that it was okay to touch him, to kiss the fur atop his nose; but still, she would not break into a run to embrace him, it was impossible for the respect she held for him; after all, some habits die hard. "Juliet," The Lion repeated only seconds later, making the girl's head rise and that smile of hers, the one that could light up rooms, meet the other entirely within the candle-lit brightness of the room as she moved to sit comfortably upon her bed. "You have proven your loyalty, though it was not asked of you." He said, taking one step forward to propel himself atop the bed, brushing his nose against the Italian's pale cheek for a short moment before he moved upon the sheets to curl his legs like a cat's atop the pearl sheets of Juliet's bed, making the place look much smaller with the space he took, but cosier for the way his paws rested barely an inch from the other's sideways folded legs. "It must have been difficult."

It was no surprise at all that the smile across the young Protector's lips remained, enough to make her tears seem like nothing but a memory wiped away by a lifting hand. "Nay, sir, never difficult when it be by thy name." A hand that soon after easily lowered to rest atop one of his paws within the small speck of affection she had only begun to learn from their first conversation upon the creation of the world itself. "I found it unfair," she continued. "That they would blame thee for troubles that are theirs, or blame their inefficiency on being less powerful than you, or blame thee for keeping me here, and curse thee, no less. How dare she? As if she had any right."

The Lion near her chuckled softly onto the comfort he attempted to bring the girl as much as the familiar feistiness in her words; it was surprising to young Juliet the warmth with which a Lion could relax upon her bed, the comfort He could bring, the joy that filled her now in contrast of the anger that had been there before.  _We care not what we do in that world of yours_  her Protector had said, showing for the millionth time that the only thing that mattered to them was their fight of Love against the Lifeless like Romeo Montague; and she was about to voice such a thought when the deep voice of her world's creator came again within their proximity. "Some of what she spoke to you is no lie." He said, making the pools of amber in Juliet's eyes lift so they could meet the depth of his own, even framed by the long ringlets of her hair which fell like a waterfall against her shoulder; she needed not speak, for her eyes spoke the query louder than her lips could. "It is my doing that you are here, not theirs." He confided noting the surprise in the girl's eyes as much as the parting of her lips. "They placed you within one of the empty worlds, it is true. But it was me who chose the one Narnia would be raised upon, and I chose yours, not by accident."

Of course at the notion of such a thing the young Capulet's magically beating heart rose in tempo, and her frame appeared to lean forward slightly to accompany the confusion across her eyes. "You  _chose_  mine?" She wondered, her lids blinking repeatedly over the impossibility of the spoken truth. "Deliberately? Knowing I was here?" The Lion's great head bobbed in a nod, the smile upon his mouth returning onto his expression and making of the young girl more of a hopeful mess as finally, and for the first time since they had met, both of Juliet's hands held onto the one big paw she had already been resting a hand against before lifting it and kissing the soft fur upon the held limb. "Oh, my dear, dear Aslan; Ever, wherefore? I do not understand." She paused, her eyes dancing upon his own as if the answers were hidden there; it was absolutely no surprise at all that she could find no response until he was willingly speaking it out loud.

"Do you know how your Protectors keep track of those, like you, that work for them?" He wondered, looking at Juliet's big wondrous eyes and not at all surprised when the girl's head made the tips of her hair dance over the negation she presented. "Since the beginning of time, and upon their own creation, we were all residents of a place you have never known but another Narnian stepping of this world upon its day of creation named the Wood between the Worlds. It is, as its name states, a forest; one full of ponds where each world, be it your Earth, or be it Narnia itself, is hidden. It is here where those you call Protectors place their charges," He announced, noting the small frown on the girl's expression over the soft confusion that built within her head. "Each one inside a pond of their own; each one inside an empty world where nothing exists but them. As were you, Juliet. Do you remember?"

At the very question, the young girl almost immediately moved her head in a nod. "How canst I not, when 't'was awful." She said, voice softly echoing upon the walls of the room as her head fell to her hands upon the warm paw he continued to rest near her. "Everything was quiet, no air to bring me life, no smell to comfort me, no nothing; and I remembered not one part of that torture whenst I was pulled away." She paused, her lips pressing together in their small memory until the moment her eyes rose to look at him again: ever the patient listener, ever the comforting creature; no means to show her he had better things to do the way she knew he did. "But I remembered everything when I was sent back." She softly continued. "Oh, how loud I would scream, tearing apart mine throat yet feeling none of it, hearing none of it because I was not but the ghost of a ghost; I didn't exist, and it was... it was much worse than dying."

The lion bobbed his head in a nod, a small one that required barely any movement, but mirrored the same sort of affirmation as if it had been wildly given. "As it was and continues to be for all in your position; all those set within those empty worlds that remain." He continued, focusing only on the slightly distraught features of the immortal girl and moving the big paw she held so it could rest instead atop her hands. "But when Narnia was to be created, I had to step into one of those empty ponds, many of which were like yours: holding of only the memory or spirit of those to be sent to duty of Love set by those you call Protectors. I chose yours."

"But..." The girl began, understanding the inner workings of the Protectors slightly more than she had before, and finding herself disliking them all the more for it (for torturing souls in a place lack of existence was worse than death itself, she was not lying), yet not entirely able to understand the reasoning of the creature before her upon the choice he had made; thus, as all candour driven within her would, she asked it in the end: "Why?" She wondered; her gaze lifting after not even realising it had fallen at all. "Wherefore hast thou chosen of mine prison when there were many all around? What hath moved thee, oh, Aslan, to make of me a living girl again when any other wouldst do?"

"Because of who you are, Juliet." The Lion quickly replied, focusing on her eyes as much as she focused on his, and allowing that smile of his to remain; the one that comforted, that relaxed; as it so well worked with her. "Because there is happiness and hope within your heart, still existent regardless of the very torture you speak of, or the death so wrongly brought upon you so early in your life, instead of the way most who have seen what you have, have then turned to the darkness that has harmed them. And because, dear one," He continued, leaning his nose against her knee upon a soft nudge. "That joy inside your soul has a purpose, for I have a plan for you here."

It was absolutely no surprise that Juliet's eyes widened at the other's words; the surprise visible from the flush upon her cheeks to the widening of her pretty eyes; even her head moved to shake in a short disbelief that mirrored just as much upon her words. "But Aslan," she began, with no more than the smallest of wrinkles upon her forehead to disrupt her features further. "I am but a girl made immortal by thy touch of life and my vow onto the Protectors, I am no one of consequence to anyone; I couldst be not even here to fight one of Narnia's most important battles to have come, I failed upon that alone! Thus, I am ever sorry, for how, and wherefore wouldst it be me that thou hath chosen when I have failed thee even then, when wouldst I let you down even 'fore I even knew thou hath chosen me at all."

But she knew, even through her words as much as he: he knew was he was doing; he was never wrong. "Being in that battle was not your fate, daughter of Love, so worry upon it no longer. Things have come to pass the way they were meant to, as they always do."

 _Easier said than believed,_ Juliet wanted to say, but she knew the creator of her world was right; it was but forgiving herself for the truth he spoke that would still take a bit longer in her mind. Still, she could not understand the reasons behind his choosing, for, in truth, who else was she other than the daughter of a Lord who always wished she were a boy, or a mother who cursed her birth for shredding her weak womb and making her unable to bear any more children? Who else could Juliet Capulet be other than a girl betrayed by the man who had claimed his love regardless of their families' enmities? Someone who had been so brokenly naive to think he could mean anything but true love with his poetry and song, someone who had blindly followed him forth regardless of how soon after he led her to her death, taking her own hand and stabbing her heart as if she had meant to do such a thing at all. How could she be anyone more than the naive young girl who was destined to watch the world move on, her life be trampled on by the words of a tricked playwright and her purpose be set to duty onto someone else's cause merely for the reality that she wished to see no one suffer the way she had ever more? How could she be meant to be more than the poor observant girl with a second chance at life? How, oh, how, when she was nothing but a ghost, a story, a side character in the tome of someone else's life as she had thought she would be from the moment her life had come to an end under that broken moonlit night?

The silence had been enough to prove her own disbelief, her own doubt; but the gentle Lion comforting her as he tended to do, allowed so no more, for mere seconds had made of her mind the tempest previously explained, and Aslan's presence had meant to bring joy into her heart alone; thus came the soft brush of his tail against her cheek and the warmth of his paw nudging upon the hands it rested on. "Speak, child." He encouraged, making the word something much more comforting than it had been when it had been spoken by the High Protector.

Yet Juliet needed no more encouragement than that. "I just fail to understand how I could be of any help at all." She confessed, finally looking directly at him again with the small frown adorning of her forehead. "I'm no one."

"You are Julietta Ciana of house Capulet, from Verona, Italy, born on the 13th of September of 1313 upon your world of Earth, am I wrong?" The Lion challenged, looking at the girl across from him with a curious yet overly knowing gaze.

"No, but—"

"And the High King, and his brother, whom he considers his right hand, have both named you Head of the Household, whilst Queen Susan and Queen Lucy, the latter for whom you have been Lady since her coronation, both call you their friend, is that not  _also_ true?" The Lion continued.

Of course all Juliet had no other option than allow the softest nods upon her head as she replied. "Well, yes, but—"

"Then how can you think you are no one, dear Juliet," he began within his proving point. "When you have not only a name, but are also quite clearly important to the Kings and Queens?" It was a question so easily planted and so absolutely true that the young Protector had absolutely no reply upon it other than the lower of her gaze and head; yet it was one that the comforting creature could not allow, as it became evident over the paw that lifted within its soft nudge upon her chin, very much like the father he had come to become to the immortal girl. "You are not no one," He said, resting his paw upon her knee for a comforting second or two before placing it before her on the bed once again. "You have become a friend to this land, and you are essential to the future of Narnia; for you are its compass now, and you will be evermore; forever guiding it onto the path to what is right, to ensure all evils of the past and future will not, and no longer, haunt these palace walls, and to make sure that each and every one has repented and reformed." It was an announcement so riddling and troubling that Lady Juliet could speak no more; she could do no more than look in his direction, frown and beg that his words would explain the rest; but all that came after explained no more than she wished she could have asked. "No one else can do what you are meant to do, dear one, just like no one else who is not meant to come into Narnia will not."

And she was going to ask more, wonder onto her wonderful world's creator just exactly what his words meant – after all, how in the world was she supposed to keep evil from the palace's walls when she didn't even know how to use a sword or more other than to defend herself against anyone were they to come attacking – but before she could even take a breath of inspiration, a loud knock came from her door, making her frazzled face look in its direction for apparently too long, for when she looked back to where Aslan had previously rested there was nothing but the wrinkles where his body had rested upon the sheets, the soft candle light illuminating the room, and the moon shining from the open window. The loud knock came again—

And the young Protector's eyes flew open at once, making the light upon everything around her change; for she was there, resting with her face against the hardened pillow upon her bed just as she had landed upon the beginning of her cry, her nightgown spread around her like an evening dress and the bright light of the sun coming from the open window behind her. "Lady Juliet?" Came the familiar voice of one of the workers of the castle alongside another knock, shaking the girl entirely from her newly-wakened state; yet still, within her refusal to respond to her, almost immediately she rolled upon the bed onto her back; her beloved Lion's name escaping questioningly from her lips as she searched her surroundings for any proof that he had been there at all: a crease upon the sheets, a paw print upon the ash from the fireplace (for he had been standing rather near to it the previous night), she would do even with a single hair; anything but the mere memories that lit within her mind... but he was nowhere to be seen.

Had Aslan come to see her at all?


	11. Chapter 11

─ ♚ ─

"No, that's too close to the Winter Ball." Queen Susan said, striking down the date from the parchment where she had begun her arduous preparations for the celebrations of her coming of age ball, setting the quill into the inkpot before turning to look in her companion's direction for what felt like the millionth time. "What about the following month? Surely the household would have recovered by then."

But the truth of the fact was that from the day's start, young Juliet Capulet had been unable to do every duty necessary as her role at court required with a full head; from the moment the familiar Ariadne had knocked on her door, the day had felt entirely shattered over the realisation of the dream she had had. She could have sworn Aslan had stood in the middle of her room, his voice resonated against the walls, the bed had moved under her when his big body jumped to curl near her like a house cat, and his paws had rested on her hands; it had felt real, so absolutely real that the girl had almost felt a dire need to weep the moment she looked upon her room after waking and noting that there was absolutely no sign of the great Lion having visited at all.

The chair meant to rest in front of her vanity desk was laying on the ground (or so she had noted when she had forced herself out of bed for the good of her duties as Head of Household at Cair Paravel), which at least reassured her that the least pleasant of the two visits she thought she had had, had been real: the High Protector had come to her, and gentle Juliet Capulet had cursed her off from her life almost entirely  _'less it be to call me to duty once more, for I have made a vow and I keep my word_ ; indeed, she had made herself an isolated young girl in a world she loved more than her own life, and the comfort that had come from the Lion she adored had been enough to make her feel less alone; yet awaking upon her bed as if the one visit she wished had happened had not ever come to be... well, it left her almost hollow. Ariadne had not been able to pull a smile from the young girl, her duties had been done with utmost determination and seriousness, and all she wanted was a moment alone, perhaps in the garden, perhaps in that library she loved so much, but a mere moment alone, because she wanted to think, to attempt figuring our Aslan's words or to decide if they had been actually said by him in the first place, she wanted to—

"Lady Juliet!" Came the loud voice from close beside her, making the young Protector blink repeatedly until such amber eyes could focus on the caller: Susan Pevensie. Oh, right... she was speaking to the oldest Queen. "Are you alright?" Susan wondered, both her hands resting almost folded atop the parchment she had been using, and even frowning shortly in the Lady's direction; after all, the fact that she had had to use her formal title only to call her attention was enough to worry the Gentle queen at once.

But of course Juliet was not alright; there was a riddle tumbling within her mind that did not work kindly toward her or the conversation she had had with the High Protector. One puzzling enough that it made her duties dissipate within her thoughts like fog blown out by warm wind, making of the young girl nothing more than a silent presence in the entirety of the castle; she didn't even remember what she and the oldest Queen had been speaking about. Still, merely a second or two after her query, the amber eyed girl brought the hint of a smile upon her lips alongside a lie: "Of course, why wouldn't I be?" And rested her hands atop the table at once.

Only to be brought into surprise the moment the Gentle Queen's lips parted to release a short laugh. "Why?" She wondered; the amusement playing with her lips and shining within her gaze. "Well, for starters, I called your name at least five times just now and you didn't answer." She said with the smallest hints of concern in the middle of her forehead and the smile still adorning her lips. "Second, I thought they were exaggerating, but some of the guards came to me an hour before our meeting and told me you seemed out of sorts, and I'm sorry, dear friend, but you do seem distracted tonight."

It was absolutely no surprise people had noticed; after all, placing a mask of poise or politeness regardless of the continuous turmoil within her head had never been one of Juliet's talents (Lady Capulet could attest to it, for many a scolding had come from such a fact). But to have guards tell Queen Susan about her moods? It seemed it still continued to be easy to forget just how well known she was in her wonderful magical world. "Oh, I hath not thought anyone would..."

"What, notice?" The Queen finished for Juliet when her words dissipated into a little cloud of nothingness in front of her usually smiling lips as her gentle amber eyes lifted to look into the ocean blue's of the other's gaze. "A lot of people in this castle care about you, Juliet, me included." She continued. "Of course someone was bound to notice."

But the young Italian surprised the other by the soft shake of her head, "Nay, not notice, I..." She admitted with the smallest frown to match the Queen's own; but she couldn't lie, not to Susan, who had become close enough to the girl that the smile that met Juliet the moment she looked up was one of disbelief, one that begged the girl to not attempt making something up when she could know almost as well as Queen Lucy could when the girl hid something. There really was no point in even trying. "Aye, of course thou art right."

Something so obvious that it made the Queen's lips lift onto a wider smile that easily broke by accompanying laughter to Juliet's own; though while Susan's attempted to be nothing but comforting, the Lady's was almost outright apologetic, thus enough to almost encourage the concern from the Gentle Queen, expressed lightly from smiling lips: "Tell me, please." She said, even going as far as leaning closer to her upon the great table in her Cabinet, a place made so cosy by the fire place, the many books, parchments, chairs and the Narnian map painted over the table's surface that it felt almost as private as her own room; enough to almost forget that anyone who wanted to speak business with her would have to go inside. "What's wrong?"

The single query was enough to make the gentle smile in the young Protector's lips dissipate for what felt like the millionth time that day; it was true, Susan Pevensie had become her friend, one who cared, one who the young Italian had ended up feeling as familiar as she did with the Queen she had served since their coronation, and it was for it, for the confidence held between her and three of the four Pevensie royals, that the resolve of Juliet Capulet's secrecy broke apart. "Well, it's..." She began; her lids waving opened and closed with enough speed to be called a flutter before she looked into the familiar tempest of Queen Susan's eyes. "'Tis about yester night, after all but the guards of the night had gone to bed..." She confessed as her hands moved and fidgeted with one another, pulling on her nails, the soft skin of her cuticle, all for the concern that so clearly ate at her to be evident even within her actions. "I was visited by the High Protector— I... the creature who hath been given responsibility of my safety when..."

"...when you were alive in Verona," Susan completed, her head nodding in mirror to Juliet's before she continued. "I remember. What happened?"

Juliet released a soft breath. "She came to me yester night, came to mine room, hoping to apologise for the—"

"To your room? After everyone had gone to bed?" the Queen interrupted; for, yes, she was focused on the tale spoken by her friend, wishing to do no more than help and comfort her, yet the admittance of the other's visitor going as far as her room was something she could not dare take lightly; not when "That's impossible, the guards did not inform me of a visitor last night."

Of course the young Protector's head shook. "Nay'r would they have, I say, for she cometh not in body, but as a projection onto mine mirror. 'Tis how we communicate ever as my duty presents," she confessed. "Before I'er given a home and place in thy majesties' court, she would come to me upon the reflection within a lake or pond, and speak of my next venture there; therefore mine dearest Susan, no guard would disturb thy slumber by the name of a visitor, for to all within this castle, there was none."

The explanation was given well enough, but even so, Gentle Susan did not seem too comforted over the idea of visitors within mirrors when she was not aware of it; still, the clarification of her lack of knowledge was enough for the main issue, therefore concern, to return to her. Thus she simply nodded her head for encouragement of her dear Italian friend. "Go on," She prompted. "What did this High Protector say?"

The query only made the amber eyed girl's gaze fall onto the table for a second time. "'Tis not so much for what she said, for 'twas so crude and insulting onto this world and our beloved Aslan that I told her off at once and dare not repeat it; cursed be my place within this world 'fore I let anyone talk so harshly onto that."

The smile on the other's lips was enough to show that she admired Juliet for that as she nodded the encouragement she thought the girl needed to go on. "What was it, then?"

An echoed breath of defeat left the Lady's lips once again. "'Tis what happened after, when she left." Her eyes lifted to look into Susan's again, for the conviction and sorrow to be mirrored well within them as she spoke. "Aslan." She said. "He came to me." Almost immediately, Susan's eyes widened in surprise, allowing the reaction, as her lips parted to speak, to be enough encouragement for the young Protector to speak again. "But that be the problem, for, aye, he came to me, we shared a word, he commended me for mine loyalty onto him and thee, and he then uttered some... riddling things that I couldst not question over the fact that, as it turned out, I woke up sleeping ey'r peacefully upon my bed this morning." There finally rested the problem for the other to see. "One moment I speaks't onto him, the moon shining into mine room, and the next, I awaken with the sun shining onto my pillow, no sign of him ever been there. Thus my wonder," She said at last. "Did he come at all? Hath I not but a vivid dream after the disruption from the High Protector? Were his words of purpose not but a concoction from a distressed mind upon a restless night?"

Needless to say, Queen Susan had been left speechless, for the only person that she knew spoke with Aslan after the Battle of Beruna, was her younger sister; the very Queen the Lady in front of her served and was close friends with; someone else? Never; let alone to be spoken of purpose. And it was that exactly what she was about to say in response to the girl, when the other's lips parted in a gentle query once again. "Tell me, Susan." A request spoken plainly and without a flinch –for it was long now since Juliet Capulet had called the Pevensies (King Edmund excluded) by anything other than their given names whilst in private – as her frame leaned forward in order to allow a soft hand to rest upon Susan's own like it had done many times before, whether in comfort or encouragement. "Is it possible?" She wondered, then. "Hast Aslan ever come to thee within a dream? For if he has, then speak now and I shan't doubt no longer; I will set mine mind immediately to decipher His words."

 _Of course,_  Susan wanted to say, but the seriousness within her features spoke of another tale; one of disappointment, one even of doubt, that tired reflected the uncertainty within her ocean eyes. "Perhaps once, I am not sure." She said, her eyes barely dancing in Juliet's direction before they fell to the spot labelled  _Great Eastern Ocean_ upon her beloved tableand her hand moved mindlessly away from hers; after all, once upon a time Susan Pevensie would not have believed in talking animals, yet now she reigned over them. And it was true, once, a year or so after her coronation, she had seen Aslan in a dream; one so vivid and detailed that some part of her had thought it had even been real; but the truth remained: it  _had_  been a dream. It had had to... what else would it have been? "But I'm afraid I cannot help you with that, my dear friend." She said, placing both her hands atop the parchment again before finishing her thought. "I believe you would be better left talking to Lucy about that." She confided. "If anyone would know about such a thing it would be her."

"Know about what?" Came the voice of the youngest of the Queens as if on cue, her shorter frame turning about in place to close the door of Susan's Cabinet alike she had found it before she had interrupted the others' talk.

An interruption that Susan questioned with a still small smile by the time her sister had made her door click shut once again. "Lucy," she greeted, sitting a little straighter over the confusion she held to see her. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to be busy all day."

The younger Queen smiled in response as she walked deeper into the room. "I finished early." She admitted, stopping by a chair near the two, and resting softly against it instead of on it. "I was looking for Juliet, and Ariadne told me she was here." She paused, merely for the end of the explanation requested of her before she asked again: "What would I know about that others wouldn't?" She was, after all, a rather curious girl.

The Gentle Queen released a breath as her body leaned back on the chair over the continuous doubt that had not left her mind as she said what, due to the silence, Juliet evidently would not. "It seems Aslan came to Juliet in a dream last night." Still, Susan smiled, looking in Juliet's direction with a sense of wonder and the continuous camaraderie the two shared.

But none of that could be compared to the expression of excitement that crossed the younger Queen's features, for it was a great contrast to the one previously shown by the older Queen. "He did?!" She wondered, moving the chair slightly so she could set herself upon it, as if just by sitting there she would be able to show just how much of her attention her Lady now held. "What did he say?" And of course the blue eyed girl would be excited for her Lady, regardless of if a speck of her mind and heart so wished to see Aslan again; after all, though there held a strangeness of thought that the Great Lion had come to Juliet instead of her, no sense of jealousy could hold her heart, for she ever wished everyone to see and feel the warmth Aslan could bring into one's life.

But upon that moment, almost begrudgingly oblivious to the difference in both Queen's reactions to her admission, all the young Protector could do was look at her Queen with wondrous eyes and a soft frown to express her astonishment. "So it is possible?" She wondered, finding her frame leaning closer to the great table and finding her eyes unable to leave the gentle blues of the Valiant Queen. "Though I woke to no sign of him around me, it is truly possible that he who I saw upon my dream last night was Aslan himself?"

Of course the first thing to reply to her was Lucy's smile. "Of course it's possible." She said; looking in her sister's direction for a moment— who was sitting without much of a movement as her hands rested upon the wooden armrests of her comfortable chair and merely listening to her younger sister's words—, before looking at Juliet once again. "Sometimes he has things to tell us but cannot come, so he visits in dreams. He is a busy Lion, you know?"

The sense of relief and joy that washed through Juliet was so overwhelming that it shifted like a visible wave upon her frame; from the relaxation of her back against the backrest of the chair, to the untangling of her hands, which now had nails bitten and pulled within the nervousness that had overcome her before, all even to the release of the breath she had felt she had been holding ever since she had awakened that morning. "Oh, wherefore?" She wondered, her lips finally lifting on the smile that had refused to appear from the beginning of the day. "I hath ever but seen Him face to face, nay'r a moment differently." She paused within another breath as one of her hands moved to rest upon the collar of her dress, as if the motion alone could halt the magically beating organ within her chest. "I am ever more puzzled, I confess."

To this, the young queen found herself frowning. "Why?" She asked, her head tilting with the curiosity it represented. "Did he say something bad?"

Almost immediately, Juliet's head shook in negation to the other's wonder; after all, the last thing she would ever want to do was worry her Queen and friend for nothing. "Nay, not bad, but puzzling." She confessed. "I am afraid I was awakened just before I could ask Him what he meant."

"And even if you had," Said Susan, finally forcing her doubt away over the comfort her younger sister had provided onto her by confirming what The Gentle Queen had always thought: Aslan  _had_  come to her within that dream for the love he had for her; meaning, unlike the small wonder she had had for the first two years of her reign, he had not abandoned her; thus, her rediscovered smile. "I think he would have still liked for you to find out for yourself."

Of course Lucy nodded in agreement. "What did he say?" She questioned again, placing her hands against the table and leaning in; as if simply by doing so the other's answers would come faster. "Tell it from the start, maybe we can help."

So tell it from the start she did; she spoke of her conversation with the High Protector for as little as she could—for such a situation had not been important to her tale, though she mentioned it for the mere purpose of giving a speck of a back story to Aslan's visit—, and finally she told everything she could remember word by word, his comfort, the truth that she had not been as unexpectedly given life as she had thought, the purpose he confessed onto her, everything; so much that by the end both Queens hung onto Juliet's every word and had to nearly shake themselves off of the security of the Italian's soft voice. Still, they breathed, shared a gaze, before Susan shook her head. "My guess is as good as yours, sister." She said, leaning back on her chair for the third time and resting her hands against her stomach before she spoke again. "Though what truly bothers me out of everything he said is the part about evils of the past within the palace." She paused. "What don't we know?"

Almost immediately, the young Queen's head moved in negation to what her sister had said. "It doesn't have to be literal," She said. "If there was something wrong we would know; it's what he says after that which makes me almost completely sure of it." She looked at Juliet again. "He said it exactly like that?" A wonder evident as much upon her tone as the gaze so heavily fallen upon the young Protector's amber pools. "' _To make sure that each and every one has repented and reformed?_ '?"

Of course the young Italian nodded her head in confirmation. "It be the same which puzzled me so." She admitted, finding the frown having returned to its place upon her forehead. "For who here, within the castle walls hath not repented or reformed? All the prisoners are gone, all who hast once been traitors hath been forgiven and left alone; who else could it be? Speaks't he not literally then either?"

But not she, nor Susan, had to wait truthfully that long before the soft echo of an idea shone bright within the younger Queen's eyes. "Not everyone, no." She said, matching the epiphany in her gaze.

"What are you talking about?" Wondered Susan; making soft long waves of dark hair fall softly upon her shoulder and arm.

"Edmund." The young Queen responded; though the brightness of her epiphany remained, the concern almost immediately became enough to match it equally. And to young Juliet's confusion, the moment the name left Lucy's lips, a sense of understanding fell upon the older Queen's features; her brows relaxed, her eyes grew heavy, and the concern that had taken hold of the Valiant Queen quickly mirrored onto her own features alike.

Still, Juliet could not understand; on the contrary, their words worried her, for the last thing she wished to come of the conversation searching of meaning was to bring trouble to the Kings and Queens, much less to the one of the four who seemed to like her the least. "King Edmund?" She wondered for it, for her mind had already begun imagining the worst; from a second treachery to his denying of Aslan alike. What else could 'repent and reform' mean if not that? Still, the silence of the Queens as they looked to her and to each other again was enough to encourage her to speak. "Hast he done something?" She wondered. Not that it was any of her business.

Unless Aslan meant it to  _be._

But all worries stepped aside the moment the young Queen shook her head. "He wouldn't, not again." She admitted; though it was a reassurance onto herself that seemed to not work, for the concern remained, confusing Juliet still. "It's not something he has done, but something he  _did_." 

The young Protector only knew of one thing: "Speak'st thou of his treachery with the Witch?" She wondered, the frown deepening as her body surprised her by leaning in; only to be shocked further by the nodding confirmation from the Queen. "But that hath been long forgotten, forgiven, by everyone at court, even outside, they think nay'th of him other than The Just King."

Yet Lucy's head shook once again. "Not everyone." She looked to Susan for a moment once again. "But most importantly, not himself."

"Lucy." Susan warned, her head immediately shaking, her eyes wide, and the frown returning upon the displeasure in her heart. "It's not our secret to tell."

"But it's no secret." The young Queen responded. "Besides, how else is Juliet going to know what Aslan meant if we don't tell her?" She challenged, noting the discomfort in her sister's features even by the time she opened her lips to speak; something Lucy did not allow by speaking before her in a soft note meant to make her understand. "Think about it, Susan." She encouraged. "Evils of the past? Repent and reform? What others evils of the past do you know other than the Witch?" She asked. "Who else do you know that has repented more than enough times, but still is unable to heal?" She paused. "It all makes sense." And without further ado, and not even waiting for the approval of her sister, Lucy turned towards her lady again. "Edmund hasn't forgiven himself. He's still haunted by his time with the Witch." She informed her Lady, who had begun to frown almost immediately after everything seemed to be ever clear for the two Queens. "He has nightmares, all the time; he refuses to eat almost anything sweet because it reminds him of what he did; he can't sleep well most nights, especially on cold ones; he is forgiven by everyone except himself."

And thus she stated what seemed to be obvious to her at last: "He meant Edmund, Juliet." Lucy said, looking straight into the eyes of the Lady that had become her closest friend at court. "For some reason, Aslan wants you to help Edmund heal."


	12. Chapter 12

─ ♚ ─

It was difficult for Edmund Pevensie to see the lighthearted figure of Juliet Capulet approaching as easily as she did, for, within no more than the entirety of the time that had passed since his first dream, the Lady had starred within his mind's concoctions each night, from happy ventures alike the first dream, to horrid nightmares where he had to see her be killed, wondrous over her importance and growing ever impatient with a mind he seemed unable to control as he watched her bleed on the sodden grass and the knife lay held by the Witch's hand, or worse, by his; thus, yes, it was hard to look at her smiling at him and walking even closer to him after having called his name, difficult to push his nightmares or pleasant dreams away, difficult to remember that he was the only one to see them, thus the sort of emotion dropping to the bottom of his stomach was not one she could either know of, let alone share. Oh, it had been so easy before the dreams; finding her annoying, avoiding her, rolling his eyes whenever Lucy demanded she be around, not finding it important to smile at her, or being able to simply live his life with mere ignorance of her existence entirely. Easier when his heart stayed still over the smile she gifted him, easier when his day didn't get a little brighter when he was in the same room with her, as rare as that was.

He was well unamused with his mind and heart for acting the way they were, especially since it had come unwanted in the first place, but still, there he was, smiling the tiniest of lifts (almost even invisible) in her direction as his hand held onto the brush he had been using to soften Phillip's mane slightly tighter than before, watching Juliet's hair cascade down her shoulders as she curtsied in front of him, or the way her big amber eyes focused on him and brought some sort of unwanted ignition into his heart. "What brings you out here, Lady Juliet?" He wondered, forcing his lips to break from whatever spell his dreams had cast him onto.

Parallel to his harrowing thoughts, or the softer way he spoke to her (softer, at least, than the few times they had spoken since the little accident that had ended with him in the infirmary years prior), young Juliet Capulet worried onto her own mind, for the truth spoken by the Queens she so dearly admired and the belief and confusion onto her beloved Lion for giving her future and present duties she did not know the start or end of; for if the Queens had been right, then the great creator of her world meant for her to help the King stood before her to somehow forgive himself over everything he had done. Though, of course, the first echo of the query that had left her lips had been as easy as this: why her?  _He has nay'r thought to like me! How am I meant to help someone who can seldom stand me?_ She had told Susan and Lucy, but the younger of the two had no more to say than  _If Aslan gave you this task, it must be for a reason_. And thus, Juliet had thought, and thought, and thought on what to do to approach the young King; an ease that led such a playful mind unto the conclusion that the only thing she could do other than think about her duty as much to the future of Narnia as to Edmund Pevensie's  _horrors of the past_  was to simply and plainly talk to him.

Though, to the surprise of not one speck of her mind, she'd had not the courage, nor the wit to approach the King. After all, what does one say to someone who has never shown to like them?

Thus, days passed until the simple answer came onto her mind, from tired thoughts and single smiles in the King's direction, as if that alone were to warm him up to her—ignoring of the frown that appeared upon his forehead a couple of times, or the quick means with which narrowed eyes fell away from her direction; all actions which did nothing to encourage her in her attempts to approach him—until too long had passed and the entirety of the situation befell her mind with such force that it seemed silly to not see it before: what else could be said to him but a confrontation of the kindest sorts? What but the truth that had stopped her from approaching him at all? "You do, sir." She said, then, finally upon the moment she had meant to claim from the second the Gentle and Valiant Queens had deciphered Aslan's words to her. "For I mean to speak to thee, if thou wouldst allow me to." Thus, she was there, holding onto the crimson folds of her dress within the nervousness that ever graced her and looking into the eyes of the Just King for a second long enough for him to note her seriousness, but enough alike for the girl to turn to the King's horse and speak a greeting for him too.

Of course, her words brought a brand new beat to the young King's heart's tune. "Me?" He wondered, with the frown of his masked indifference making an appearance for the millionth time in front of her, and the note of his speech slightly colder than a moment before. Exactly how it always left when she stood in front of him: as if she were no more than a noble he had to tolerate. "Why would you want to speak to me?" He continued, w _e rarely speak,_ he completed in his head; nothing but the sad truth he had to live with, now more than ever. "Is everything alright with Lucy?" What else could the amber eyed comfort in front of him could have to say when their paths rarely even crossed?

The Lady's features hardened softly, shattering the King's determination onto his indifferent stance, regardless of the tight hold he had on the nearly forgotten brush; it had been his tone that encouraged the familiar discomfort whenever the two crossed words, making the light from the beginning of the conversation become lost and even going as far as furrowing against the girl's brow. "All is well with thy sister, aye." She admitted with the colder tone he was well familiar coming in his direction. "'Tis not her I come to speak of, but this." And as her wit and bold attitude had allowed her to from the moment the other three royals had become her friends, one of her hands let go of her dress and motioned in the King's direction.

Making of his heart a jolly tune of as much annoyance and admiration for the millionth time for the ease with which she seemed to speak to him; as if he were an equal, as if he weren't King. "This?" He asked, not but his mind knowing of the change of his demeanour, for his features remained the same.

"Aye, sir: this." Juliet replied, holding onto her dress with both hands once again before she dared to speak the rest along her strong confident tone; thus shocking Edmund further. "Thy tone towards me alike this time: cold and empty; thy attitude onto me, nay'r minded of my friendship with thy siblings, something I ever wish't with thee as well, thy everpresent loathing o'er my being around, nay, of  _me_ , which frankly, I fail to see the cause of, evermore, what hast I ever done to deserve it? A hate so ardent that it hath but caused me to avoid thee as much as mine position allows me; and for what? So we may be strangers within a home we have shared for near six years? Pray, is this what awaits me for the length of thy reign? For if it is so, I beg, speak thus now and I shan't wonder any longer, I shall accept it, aye, and bother thee no more, that much I vow."

The speech had been unexpected but well deserved, for she was not wrong; he  _had_  hated her once, or he would have anyway, if he had been mindful enough to put so much energy to the thought of her as to have it be called hate. He had been annoyed by her whenever she was around, that much was true; for her wit, her boldness, the means with which she spoke to his siblings as if they were her equals, to him, the way she attempted the same with  _him_. They were all features that once had so horribly made her annoying in his eyes, distasteful, yet now... they were almost even admirable; all because of those damn dreams. Oh, unwanted torturers that vexed him until the moment he could think the words he had once spoken over the reality that he never even thought of her often enough to hate her and thus repeat in response to her speech upon that night: "I don't hate you." He had said the same thing within the infirmary, a moment that felt so much like a lifetime prior for nothing more than the truth that the girl with the amber eyes and sunlit smile had changed completely within his mind.

Yes, that day in the infirmary he had admitted he had not hated her, but it had been because he hadn't even  _cared_  about her any more than the fact that she was his siblings' friend; yet now... well, he did not hate her because... how could he ever hate someone he liked so much? Hell, he had thought he had been sick for days when a once ignored indifference turned into true hatred for the girl who began to mean so much to him: from the way her once seemingly dead hair now seemed to shine, dance with the wind that brushed it, seemed soft enough to touch, to the way her once ignorable eyes now sent a wave of fluttering wings whenever they connected with his; or her voice, one which had once been so annoying to hear suddenly turned into a melody he could not get enough of.

All because of those stupid dreams.

Oh, he hated her then, and he hated her deeply because she had come into his mind without permission; because he hadn't asked for the sort of fancy that had grown within his mind, because suddenly she was not ignorable, she was not no one, she was Juliet Capulet, the first girl the great traitor Edmund Pevensie had come to fancy in his life, as if he should be allowed the normalcy of such a mundane thought. He had hated her then, and that was when her inclusion within the usual nightmares had begun; nightmares that went for days upon days until a month had passed and his hatred turned to dust, making some sort of acceptance take hold only within his mind and no one else to know: behold, the once treacherous boy had a heart that worked, and a fancy for Lucy's Lady and closest friend had decided to call it a home.

Of course, Juliet could know none of that, and it was for it that the confusion returned onto her features the moment the King repeated his lack of hatred onto her; for the contrast between his attitude toward her and his words simply could not connect properly within her mind; after all, what was she to think when a frown met her smile? What was she to think when the Just King disappeared from a room almost the second she entered it? What was she to think when any word fallen from his lips into her ears were so cold they nearly froze her magical heart? And it was the wondering of all of that which made her take a step forward upon that day, her frown deepen, and the note of her bewilderment break the short silence that held the two within their minds. "Then I beg thee, speak." She requested whilst her eyes searched his features for the answers she wished for. "Wherefore doth thou treat me like an enemy, an annoyance, whenst I've but wished thee a friend alike the High King and Queens? What hath I ever done to offend thee? If it be not hate thou feels't for me, I beg, then, explain. Or if thou wilt not, then aye, let it be, but let us also conclude the discomfort we have shared within this home, let it end."

Was there a more reasonable request than that?

There was his heart to think of, now that he knew it worked like anyone else's; for there were things he knew of the coming future that would make of the Lady's request a painful one for him in the end, and what worth had something if it was going to bring pain in the end? Well... once upon a time he would have said none, but now, with the other's eyes so intent on his, making of his stomach a mess and his heart a melody, every single worry of the future seemed to be for nothing; oh, what would it be like? To have the friendship the girl before him had with his siblings, to smile when she laughed, to be the reason of that smile... "It has ended." He said then, before any change could come within his mind, for the premise of even so little a joy as the sort of closeness she had with the others was enough to satiate his mind.

And, it seemed, hers as well, for the sense of relief that filled her, alike the surprise, showed (as any of her emotions ever did) all over her face and body: with dropped shoulders, a small frown, the loosening of her hands' hold on her dress, and the press of her lips as those wondrous amber pools danced upon his eyes as if she were unsure of his honesty or lack of a game; she even gulped, narrowing her eyes in suspicion, thus bringing forth the very first candid laughter to escape from the King's lips in her direction. "I mean it." He said, thus shocking her further, yet welcoming the widening of her eyes or the small smile being fought against by the line her lips remained in. "My reasons are my own, but I agree, let it end."

Still, her shock remained; or if not her shock, then the gentle relief she felt at having finally taken the right step when it had felt she had been taking a million wrong ones. She did not even know what to say but merely allowed a nod to show her agreement onto his words, as hard to believe as they were: only time would show if the strife and tension between the two had finally ended once and for all; making it so that if it did, then it would be all the easier to do as the Queens had deciphered she was told to do. And yet,  _now what?_ Came the thought into her mind, for the truth was that she had been expecting resistance where there had been none; failure where there had been success; and her expectations had not allowed her to think as far ahead as to where she had finally gotten. Indeed,  _now what?_

Great minds seemed to think alike, for the silence remained after his smile had faded into the normalcy of his demeanour, ever wondrous over what should happen next, making his eyes fall to his hands, and thus finding the answer to what could terminate the tricky silence between the two after the agreed end: "Do you want to brush Phillip's mane?"

The end indeed, for with the ease of his query came the conclusion of the conversation she had meant to have, leaving things to end up even better than she had thought; for it, she released a soft breath, finally smiled once again, and allowed the hold on her dress to disappear completely within the relaxation any lack of anger brought her mind. "Aye, sir, if Phillip wouldn't mind a different hand." Not that tending to a horse had ever been something she had dreamt of doing, but the truth was that she happened to like the lot of Narnia's talking horses, and the offer of the activity was one to allow the ease of moving on from a conversation that had ended, thus welcome.

"I do not mind at all, my Lady." Said the horse, speaking for the first time ever since his greeting to the girl. "Any hand may be softer than the King's."

A playful jest that brought a second, yet slightly less amused wave of laughter from the boy's lips as he offered the brush to the amber eyed girl. "Ignore him." Edmund said, fighting heavily against the rush of his heart the moment the soft touch of her fingers brushed with his. "He likes to think he's funny."

Smiling in a way she had not ever smiled in the presence of the Just King—thus unconsciously proving his earlier thoughts right (it  _was_ worth it just to have him be the reason of the girl's smile)—Juliet moved closer to the horse as a simple "I  _am_ funny, your Majesty." Came as a retort to Edmund's words, bringing upon a soft laugh from her even as her hands set to do what she had not ever done before; something which easily showed a couple of seconds later, the moment a neigh left the horse's lips and made the girl jump back with worry and her hands held up in the air. "I'm sorry!" She said.

She'd pulled the horse's hair.

At least Edmund laughed again as his steps led him closer to her regardless of how his eyes remained on his loyal horse. "That's what you get for being funny." He told Phillip, before directing his words in Juliet's direction at once. "You moved too fast," He informed her, noting the small elation that he was better than her at something, yet keeping the thought entirety to himself as his hand soothed over the horse's back. "Have you ever brushed a horse before, Lady Juliet?"

Alas, she could not hide the strange fact from him. "Nay, I have not." She admitted, offering the brush to him, yet being pleasantly surprised the moment he didn't take it, and instead took her hand to place it upon Phillip's mane again. "Not as myself, anyway, I... within my duty to the Protectors I may have at one point, but nay'r with mine hands and mind, for my family was one that dealt with vineyards, not horses, thus, any horses we did own were kept far from me, for I was but a child, and a Lord's child at that, and hath no business tending to horses, even if I had wished it; and here, in Narnia... well, the need to tend to a horse hath nay'r come along."

"Right." It was surprising, to say the least, the way in which Edmund could evidently hang to the girl's every word the way he had not done ever since he had started caring about her, much less ever since they met; but there he was, listening as if her words were the most important, as if he understood anything about being a Lord's relative or anything about the Protectors he could remember Lucy explaining about years prior but could not, for the life of him, remember the meaning of. He'd have to ask someone about it, or... unwilling to risk anyone realising his demeanour towards the girl had changed at all, hope for Juliet to explain at some point.

A small part of him was starting to regret changing his demeanour at all.

After a short clear of his throat and the release of her hand (which he would in no way willingly acknowledge being anything but his attempt to help her learn), he spoke again. "Let me show you," he offered. "Maybe you could need a horse of your own soon." With that, he took her hand again; where minutes prior the cold of their words could freeze anyone over, suddenly the comfort between the two seemed to reign, for it was that comfort that allowed the seconds pass, the minutes, the hours as he taught her everything there was to know about tending to horses, whether talking or not, even after Phillip had galloped away and left the two simply chatting under the tree with enough familiarity that nearly all titles were dropped for the length of the conversation. Where the day had been young, it aged in front of them, making the sun hide and the stars begin to spring, shifting the autumn warmth onto a breeze cooling of anyone's frame, though not discomfort.

So the time passed, until the candles at many windows of Cair Paravel began to light, and the reality of the late hour began to rise within the young Lady's mind quickly enough to surprise even the Just King when, what it appeared to be out of nowhere, Juliet's frame rose from the place it had sat by his side upon the grass. "My, is that the time?" She said, brushing her hands against her dress from any rogue blade of grass that might be willing to stick to the fabrics of her clothes. "I thank thee for the lesson, all of it." She said, looking at Edmund as he rose from the ground alike and rid his clothes from any grass. "But I'm afraid I must go; the High King hast named me an invitation to be his guest of honour at dinner this night, and I would hate to look like I don't appreciate such an invitation."

It was here where the Just King's smile finally came to a small stop; it's genuine demeanour turning into the forced truth that kept the note of his voice almost perfectly mirroring the comfort he had allowed himself with her. Oh, how had he forgotten, even for one day. "I thought the High King was your friend," he forced himself to say, finally lifting his eyes in her direction. "I'm sure he'd understand you being a little late; especially since I would be late too." Why had he allowed himself to forget?

"Aye, sir, he is my friend," the Lady quickly replied. "As I hope thou canst now be too." But for her the smile was genuine, for ignorance was bliss, and the only thing her mind could focus on was her duty, her success upon a first step, and the complete breakthrough she would consider herself having when it came to the Just King. "Yet just because he is my friend it does not mean I must forget my place, must I?"

If only the same could be said for Edmund's mind. "I guess not." And here he had been thinking her friendship made her forget her place all the time; it appeared he had been, oh, so wrong.

"Indeed." She smiled. "Thus," With the sort of playfulness never showed in the boy's direction before, the young girl allowed the lift of her lips to remain regardless of the soft curtsy that lowered her frame for a second or two before it lifted and her eyes could meet Edmund's once again. "I shall see you at dinner tonight, your majesty, whenever thy choice to join us may be."

And thus, with a smile to light the entirety of the world itself, the girl turned about and ran in the direction of Cair Paravel, holding onto her skirts so she would not fall, and leaving Edmund Pevensie watching after her disappearing frame, noting her hair flying behind her like a wave from a dark ocean, and staying with the ghost of that smile for the rest of the night, wishing to forget what he knew of the future spoken about with his older brother, and hoping the allowance of a friendship with the subject of his fancy would not bring further regret into his mind. 


	13. Chapter 13

─ ♚ ─

It wasn't for nothing, and that much young Juliet Capulet could be happy with; about two weeks had passed since her jolly conversation with the youngest King—one stating of their hopeful friendship, and even proving to them that such a thing was possible upon the day spent by each other's side, speaking of nothing and everything until the gentle moon shone brightly upon the sky—, and nothing was there to prove any of them wrong; granted, their near silence remained in front of everyone, with no changes from either of them to be noted other than the lack of the Just King's rolling eyes or heavy sighs when the Lady entered in the room, thus it was not as if everyone could notice the difference; but on private everything changed: the King would nod at her, even smile in her direction within the soft greeting spoken in notes as gentle as the conversation they had shared under the oak tree, he even helped her on the carrying of a few books the Gentle Queen had requested for the sake of her chosen theme for her coming of age ball.

Of course, it was not as if the King were confiding in Juliet Capulet about the very things she wished he would speak to him about (she'd dared not forget what she thought was her duty), but even she knew that Rome had not been built within a day, and time spread endless before her; time which would allow the friendship she had begun building with the younger King to bloom into something as intimate as what she knew she had with his siblings; enough for him to confide in her the way the others did. What else was there to make her happy as she sat by the younger Queen's side with a book in her hands and the smile plastered upon her lips? Even the sole fact that she would have peace and lack of tension now with every member of the castle was enough to lighten her day completely, allowing her mind to wonder, her fingers soft against the pages she turned, her hair resting behind her ear so it wouldn't fall and cover her eyes, managing to block the words upon the pages.

Yes, Juliet Capulet was happy, peaceful for what felt like the first time in too long, and it was for it that she did not truly worry when the knock came upon the door to the Valiant Queen's door, and a gentle faun bowed shortly and was greeted as sweetly as anyone ever talking to Lucy Penvensie was. "Pardon the intrusion, your majesty." He said once her greeting had ended. "But the High King is requesting your presence in the throne room." Indeed, even the odd request wouldn't shake the smile from the young protector's full pink lips.

"The throne room?" Lucy echoed; her quill falling on its inkpot as the softest of frowns barely shadowed her eyes. "Whatever would he want to see me there for?"

Suddenly, the faun seemed apologetic. "I do not know, my Queen, but he did say it was very urgent."

With a short click of her tongue, the Valiant Queen's head shook and her body lifted from its place upon the chair, making it a near automatic response for her loyal Lady to place a tiny bookmark upon her tome and set it aside whilst she stood en par to the younger girl; that is, until Lucy turned to look at Juliet at once. "No, please, stay." She told her, moving a hand to rest on the amber eyed girl's arm once she had reached her side. "Could you please start the next letter that needs to be sent?" She wondered, "These need to be sent out tomorrow; I still have four to go, and I have a feeling this conversation won't be a small one." She paused. "Peter's been looking rather odd lately, and something tells me I'm finally going to learn why."

Of course Juliet almost immediately nodded; her lips even parted so she could assure the young Queen that her work would be done as she requested, but before she could, the faun near the door spoke once again. "I'm sorry, your majesty." He said, going as far as even bowing again before the rest of his words left his lips. "But the King requested Lady Juliet be there as well."

"He did?" This time, the frown in the young Queen's forehead almost immediately disappeared as if by some sort of magic spell that sent such an expression from her face to the short bewilderment found upon Juliet's own; after all, it was not at all odd for Juliet's presence to be requested upon a royal meeting (she had basically even become a royal counsellor in one way or another), but in the throne room? Such a place had not been used for any sort of meeting since the Kings and Queens had been crowned upon them; not but balls, receptions of foreign lords, anything overly official that needed them to show their rank for politics' sake. Thus, why in the world would Peter Pevensie, High King of Narnia, request his sister's Lady be present so specifically upon such a situation? And more importantly, why did the Valiant Queen suddenly seem so excited as she said, "Oh, of course." and took hold of her friend's hand? "I should have known that's what it was; please, go." She told the faun. "We will be there immediately."

And with no more than another bow, the faun finally left, and Queen Lucy and her Lady were left alone in the room again. "Come on." She said, starting to walk in the direction the faun had disappeared and pulling Juliet with her. "These letters can wait."

Of course, confusion reined the young protector's mind with enough force that any word of wonder got stuck in the middle of her throat, for the young Queen's understanding was lacking to her brain, thus endless amounts of possibilities were running through the strangeness in her head; could they have begun to be attacked by someone in the nearest borders? Had someone been hurt? Almost immediately, the idea seemed ridiculous; of course none of those things had happened, if they had, then the expression in the young Queen's face would not be one of excitement, but worry and sadness to match her steps as she pulled her friend and Lady down hallways and stairs. No, it had to be something exciting, something new, perhaps even something adventurous; for what else would bring such a smile to the youngest queen's lips after the mere request of their presence had seemed so strange?

Whatever it was, it appeared important, for the moment the two entered the throne room, they were met by the smiling and frowning expressions of the Gentle and Just Queen and King respectively. "Ah, there you are." The High King said, raising from his throne and walking down the couple of stairs to meet the two by his brother and sister's side, the latter of who had been sitting on the steps and the former of who simply had to turn in place to look at them with a small mirror of Lucy's own intent. "We can finally start." And as if such words and expressions upon their majesties' faces were not weird enough, then the rather thought-forgotten means with which Edmund's shadowed gaze fell away from Juliet the moment she looked at him, definitely became enough to worry the young Italian as she stood in place: it was a very familiar expression to be found upon his features, yet one that had not been met for the entirety of two weeks. His frown deepened shortly upon seeing her, his eyes seemed less friendly, and there was a sort of anger that Juliet did not understand as his eyes fell away from her and his body rose from his position on the stairs. Indeed, what was going on? What had happened to make Lucy, Peter and Susan so happy that would bring back the discontent in the younger King's gaze when it was directed at her?

Perhaps she'd hoped for too much in two weeks.

"What is going on?" She whispered in Lucy's proximity without daring to look away from the Just King, who so easily simply stood opposite to them and Susan, in Peter's right side.

Without the smile even disappearing from her lips, Lucy simply said, "You'll see." And looked at Peter again, who so easily seemed to be suddenly very encouraged to talk after a soft pat to Edmund's shoulder.

Indeed, what was going on? "There is a tradition." The High King began, lowering both his hands to rest behind his back and finally turning around to set foot and stand on the first step to the stone platform where the thrones rested behind him. "Set by the heirs of the first King and Queen of Narnia; that upon the greatness of their children's coming of age ball, they would each choose the companion to share the rest of their lives, and their engagement would be announced that very night, setting the future of Narnia's royalty at once." He paused, looking down for a moment as he went on. "Of course, I failed upon such a task," He looked up again, sharing a look with Susan and Lucy before deciding to look at nothing in particular, merely in front of him, as if there were some sort of audience. "I was supposed to stand here, look the guests in the eye and say, 'I hereby announce my betrothal to...' but I could not, for I was unsure of my prospects, and the sort of girl I would want by my side." Weirdly enough, he even smiled at the thought.

Of course the idea of a marriage was strange to think of when she and Queen Susan had been so deep on the planning of her own coming of age ball; but such a thing was not what concerned Juliet at that moment, not when she noted the continuous excitement in the Queens' expressions, or the even deeper discontent on the younger King's own. "But no longer." The High King continued, bringing the small speck of silence to an end and forcing Juliet Capulet away from the worry of her lack of understanding of the situation in its entirety; for example, why would the King's brother not be glad for his engagement? Why would the presence of Lucy's Lady be needed for an announcement such as that? Shouldn't that sort of announcement be spoken in front of the other Lords as well? In front of the Dukes, the Counts, and even the Knights, new and old; shouldn't more people be in the room? Perhaps even newly placed nobles like the young brunette now-Lady and Knight of striking personality that completely floored young Juliet? What was her name? Athena?

"I have called you all here today, because my announcement and proposal is ready to be made," Peter continued, standing still at once and even finding courage enough to look his sisters in the eye for a second or two. "I have finally found my match, and she is someone very important to Narnia," He said, stepping down the sole stair he stood upon before going on. "Someone high in the eye of most everyone, respected, loved, appreciated for her kindness, her loyalty, her beauty. She is powerful merely for what she means to the Narnians alike the status she holds to their eyes, yet does not act as such, for her humble personality remains and makes her appear more a friend to everyone than a revered creature at all; the humility and admiration of a sort perhaps that could even be compared to sainthood somewhere else; but above all, regardless of the meaning such a union would mean for the part of me that is the High King, she is also, to me as a person, a very good friend, as she has been from the moment she stepped foot in this castle, to me, and to us all."  _Oh, no_. Where they hadn't before, the older King's eyes finally fell on Juliet's own, and every single speck of stone seemed to disappear from under her feet, making her lips part, making breath necessary for the first time since she had awakened upon the world of Narnia within its creation, leaving her more than speechless, but afraid, making her hold on her skirts tighten so deeply that even her knuckles had gone white, and if it weren't for the fabric between her nails, they probably would have left a mark upon her palms.  _Oh, no._ "Juliet," He said, his feet leading him in her direction and bringing the tightest of knots to the young Lady's throat.  _No, no, I beg, stop._ "It is that humility that I am sure has forbidden you to see the place you hold in this world and the heart of its creatures, for ever since you were presented to us you never acted as an equal, and that is why I know you cannot see." He stopped before her, almost perfectly cuing the Queens to move aside and join Edmund at the opposite side from where they had stood. "But you are, Juliet, you really are. You hold a place within this world of so much consequence that perhaps anyone would say you're only really under Aslan himself; after all, other than him, you are the oldest creature, and oldest daughter of Eve, alive in Narnia, existent from the moment of creation, and for it you are respected, looked up to, some would even say revered; yet you seem to not know this, because you never act as such, but it is why I tell you, and why I know this to be right." He then stopped, taking a gentle breath and moving his hands away from behind his back so they could reach to untangle Juliet's from the hold upon her dress. "Thus, it is for it," He continued once his hands held her own, ignorant, for the first time alike everyone else, to the tempest wrecking of the young girl's heart and mind. "Because not only do you hold a high place in Narnia, but for some sort of miracle you have also come to become a very dear friend, that making this decision became perhaps the easiest and most right I could have made, for your friendship, alike the time we have spent together for the past year, has made it clear that if I ever were to chose a wife thus promptly, there would be no one other than you that would be right. So, I ask you, then, here, where almost a year ago I would have announced it if it had been clear... will you marry me?" He paused. "Will you finally share a title like the one you deserve and would thus receive by my side?"

Finally, there was silence; Peter's voice had finished its run and everyone else remained quiet. Nothing but the breathing from her own parted lips, the echo of her heart thumping like a melody within her chest, and the soft toots from birds tweeting through dancing leaves moving like green waves upon all of Narnia as its winds brought the woods to life as much as the sentient magical trees that Juliet loved so much could be heard within that room; she would even say, if she were to be asked in future, that she suddenly felt as if she had a body no more, as if she were floating right above her body over the swiftness of the shock running through her veins. But her mind, oh, her mind was the most alive of her whole being, for it ran in circles, in wonder and shock, through every single thing she had ever spoken to the High King; from jokes, to smiles, to shared dances at balls, close proximity at dinners, meetings, to the many requests of her presence that had been made for the past couple of years. He had been close, he had spoken kindly to her, stood closer, held her hand more, wrapped her in an embrace more often, and still, she had not seen the direction any one action could be wronged onto, she had not seen just how absolutely wrong it could all have been misunderstood, and now... oh, now... "Juliet?" Came the voice of the High King again, nervous as it had been sure before, for the silence had made of his proposal a tense reality that young Juliet had not been able to prevent. "Juliet, did you hear me?"

Oh, she had; she couldn't pretend she hadn't even if she wanted to. This... God help her, this was wrong. "Doth thou love me?" She wondered before she could stop her words, lest the truth hidden within her mind not be spoken over the certainty that being a Protector allowed: perhaps her own hatred for one Romeo Montague had blinded her entirely, perhaps the belief that love was final, a one chance truth that she had already had thus could have no more, had made her unable to allow her mind to see any sort of affection as anything more than what she wished it to be (friendly, platonic, perhaps even sisterly), but as a Protector of Love, if any sort of bond had grown upon someone she knew, her eyes and heart, which had been chosen to be made able to tell the signs of true love within any one soul, would have seen and known. Yet there Peter Pevensie stood: not one sign at all but the admiration in the depth of his ocean eyes, and for it her words, ones finally leaving her lips and breaking the silence without truly even leaving him space to reply. "I know thou wilt say aye, for if thou think'st not, then thy proposal would have not come." She continued, amber pools finally lifting to look into his own. "But I beg thee, stop and look into thy mind for the sort of love thou wouldst express upon this night, for there is a truth in mine that I must speak before thy words would lead us both upon a path we should not take upon a stride."

Of course the King was speechless, his eyes shadowed by the frown that had taken hold of his expression, the extensive reply given, one which he had hoped would be as simple as a yes that would set the very pressure of a future in Narnia in stone, flooring him enough for his feet to take him back a step or two, to make his hands let go of hers and his eyes search for some sort of answer her amber pools could not express for the first time since he had met her. "Juliet, I..."

But she would not allow another word; instead of waiting for any sort of speech that would explain to her the train of thought his mind had concocted to land upon such a proposal, the girl instead fell to the ground upon one knee, kneeling in front of the oldest King with her hands resting one atop the other against the fabric hiding of her legs. "Your majesty." She said, finding her mind almost unable to not note the soft gasps coming from behind the High King; after all, not only was her reply perfectly evident, but no titles fell from the young Lady's lips toward them when privacy embraced them alike that day. "I beg thee, forgive me, for I must decline this honouring proposal for the sake of mine mind and alike thy heart, for it is one I know holdst of no affection for me other than the sort I feel for thee and thy siblings alike," Her eyes lifted from their focus on the ground to finally look into his own. "I love thee, that much is true, but 'tis not like a wife should love a husband, nor thou onto me, and this I can assure, for reasons I can explain if thy majesty requires me to. Nay, I love thee like the brother I was nay'r allowed to have, I would place my body before yours, hath an arrow be set to fly upon thy heart, so it would hit me instead and take my life, and I would, here I vow, do the same upon the Just King and the Queens, thy sisters, but any other love I hold for thee not, thus, dearest Peter, I beg, forgive me, but I cannot become thy wife."

Peter had moved slightly away from her, his eyes refusing to look anywhere but the kneeling girl he would be right to think of as a third sister, enough so that his shock would be visible as much to her as Edmund, Susan and Lucy, and the surprise could not be erased from their faces as much as the disappointment and even sorrow could not be erased from his own; Susan and Lucy held each other's hand, a frown adorning of the oldest Queen and the speck of concern onto the youngest, regardless of how the words left Peter's lips not ever as easily as the first confident speech had been, "But we could grow to love each other," He attempted to convince, not much for his own security of mind as for the lack of understanding of her reply; something evident enough in the way he looked at her. "Juliet, you would be a Queen."

The young Protector's head fell in a soft bow again, alike her body, refusing to rise. "Aye, sir, I would, and I thank thee for the thought that I might deserve it." She said, even fighting against the soft smile that lifted one nervous corner of her lips. "But I care not for crowns or power, for that divinity belongs only to thee and Aslan himself; for thou art right, I am the oldest creature alive within this world, and if the title of a crown hath been meant for me, then I wouldst but have been named Queen by Aslan a long time ago, but I wast not, nor hath I ever thought to be, I swear that onto thee, thus, I repeat, my King, I beg thou pardon my decline, but I seek not status, and though I live and breathe like any in this room, a union with me wouldst do all but bring a future to thy reign, for my womb is dry, I cannot carry a child, and what good would be that to thee?" Not surprisingly at all, Peter tried to speak again, but just like before the young Italian refused to let him speak at all. "I beg thee, sir, let me go. For if that reason alone wilt not sway thee to a change of mind, then I will confess else more: that I was once married, as is known, and upon my death I swore to mine own self that I wouldst not ever stand for marriage not driven by love, for it was nearly forced onto me, and it led me astray until Romeo Montague took my life, and aside from that, regardless of the horrors driven thus through his knife"—her hand lifted to rest upon her heart, as if the emphasis of such a fact could work at all.—"the man was my soul's mate, I married once already, thus I may do so no more, for love hath claimed me for the one chance it hast. And here I stand, a second chance at life, thus making me refuse to marry if not for love, alike, as thy friend, as a person who loves thee as much as if thou hath truly come from mine own blood, I look upon thy face, refusing to be part of taking away from thy heart such an opportunity as a love-filled marriage, for love, dear Peter, is worth all the years made of thee to wait."

To the surprise of no one in the room, perhaps other than Edmund Pevensie, whose eyes had refused to move away from the kneeling girl in true shock of the scene before him, the silence reined the room once more, tension dancing above their heads alike the wind that played with the trees outside for the few seconds it took for the Lady to finally stand from the ground and do no more than look in Peter's direction with the pled for forgiveness written across her face and body alike; no echo but the wind filled the room, everyone's breath, the birds, the guard who seemed to have begun training outside at some point during their conversation, if anything could be taken from the sound of striking silver outside. For a few moments, no one else moved, until at last, what truly felt like an eternity later, Juliet spoke again: "Please." The note in her voice was as pleading of forgiveness as the rest of her body and soul. "I am sorry, I beg let me—"

"Go." The High King interrupted almost at once, his body seeming to have absorbed every speck of tension within the room as his hands balled into fists at his sides; his body turned away from her and his eyes fell for the shortest of moments on his siblings. "You're dismissed."

The coldness of such a truth was enough to make the young Protector's beating organ seem to hurt as both her hands moved in much more than nerves to the silk of her dress, balling the fabric upon her hands as the pretty gems of her tears begged to be set free for what had just happened; but still, she took a step forward, her lips parted, her eyes shining like sparkling amber pools begging of much more than the forgiveness she wished to request forevermore. "Peter, please understand—"

But she could say no more, for the High King simply looked at the ground and interrupted her before she could go on. "Just go, Juliet, please." A request so loud it echoed in the big room enough to make the youngest Queen shortly flinch as much as her Lady herself.

So, of course, the Protector's lips pressed together, a single tear fell upon the contours of her face, and her gaze fell to the ground once more, allowing merely the soft politeness of a curtsy in their direction and a near silent "Your Majesties." Before she immediately turned around and walked away from the room at once, her mind clouded by his every word, the gasps from the Queens, or the mere truth that she had been proposed to by one of her best friends and had, faithfully, declined.

The happiness from that morning was a thing of the past. 


	14. Chapter 14

─ ♚ ─

There was a silence over the private side of the castle that nothing seemed to be able to break; one noticeable only to anyone who had been in the room those few days prior when, in Juliet's mind, everything had fallen apart over the proposal from one of the three people she had thought to be a close, if not intimate friend. She still couldn't understand it, none of it, starting from the reasoning behind the High Kings attempt to marry her, but above all, what the reason could have been that had even brought the idea to light in the first place; had she ever allowed too much, with the embraces, the smiles, the playfulness? May God be her witness upon the reality that Juliet Capulet's dalliance had never been meant romantically, but sisterly; after all she acted with Peter the same way she acted with Susan and Lucy, and could anyone ever think she meant romance with them? No, nothing but the bond of sisterly love she grew to feel for them all (all but Edmund, who had refused to be her friend for the entirety of nearly six years) had meant to light the High King's heart, and a bond such as that was not one for marriage, it couldn't be.  _We could grow to love each other_  the King had said, but in the end it would all be a lie; nothing but a marriage like the one between her parents, nothing but a marriage like the one her parents had  _meant_  for her before she had met Montague, and what would that make of her? Taker of a vow of falsehood, liar, traitor to Peter for stealing his opportunity for true love, and traitor to her own mind; a mind which had long ago bowed to stand for no marriage insistent of anything but love.

So the silence remained between the Kings, Queens and Juliet; though, perhaps, if the young Lady had paid attention, then the evidence of the hell of her own making would become clear. For it was she who stayed away, she who refused to have dinner with them for three days, she who, with no more than the duties she had been given as Lady and Head of the Household used as an excuse, avoided the royals in any single way until enough seemed to have been enough and the oldest Queen, by guise of the job they had to do of making sure all preparations for the coming ball were ready (such as party favours and decorations the Queen herself wanted to be in charge of), called Juliet Capulet to her cabinet room, where the girl was now walking towards with her back straight, her eyes nearly eternally on the ground, and any sense of the confidence and spark to a walk which reigned whenever she spoke of duty and work to those under her, disappeared entirely by the time her hand lifted and her knuckles tapped upon the Gentle Queen's door. "Yes." The familiar voice came from inside, inviting Juliet's hand to turn the knob and push forth until the scene inside was displayed: the table painted with the beautiful Narnian map was entirely covered with fabrics, flowers made of silk, beautiful designs of live flowers on vases and sawing tools of many kinds, and the Queen, sitting on her usual chair with hands busy on the intricate making of a silk flower that made the young Lady's brows raise for the shortest of moments before her eyes fell to the ground again and her body lowered in a short curtsy. "Your majesty." She said, refusing to rise until allowed.

That was the problem; it was as if now she was entirely too terrified of acting how she had, as if it were obvious she was no longer wanted, as if some sort of declaration had been made shortly after the proposal that if she didn't accept to be Peter's Queen, then she was no longer a friend of the crown, and the thought of such a thing... well, it was enough to keep her quiet, enough to make a three day separation seem like a month, and for it, the oldest Queen had had enough. "Oh, not that again." She said, the gentle smile appearing upon her full lips as she let go of her work, stood from her chair and strode with quick steps in Juliet's direction, until a hand could rest upon her friend's arm to help her rise and her arms had finally wrapped around her shoulders at once. "There is no one here," the Queen said. "No need for political flare, you can call me Susan."

Of course the young Protector stood still for a moment or two; her hands raised at both sides of the oldest Queen's waist, but shocked, thus refusing to wrap them around her frame at once, for the confusion was there, evident by her immobility or her lack of words for a moment or two as the other's lack of a cold greeting made a home within her mind... "But... still?" She wondered, finally allowing her hands to move for the short moment they could to wrap the other in a thankful embrace; may it be the dramatic bone inside her body, but, suddenly, young Juliet wished to cry.

"Of course, still." The Queen easily responded, pulling away from the embrace only enough so the great relief of her eyes could focus on the amber familiarity of Juliet's own. "Nothing has changed." She attempted with the smile still happily present upon her lips.

Merely confusing the young Lady further enough to speak again. "But, what happened with Peter—" She began.

Only to be interrupted by Susan's shaking head and completing words. "—was a mistake." Her hands moved from the girl's arms to her hands as her feet took her further back so she could lead the other toward the table with all the materials as she spoke. "You were right." She continued, looking entirely at Juliet and nothing more. "And if Peter hadn't been so angry he would have told you so himself instead of telling you to go." She mused, even going as far as releasing the echo of a scoffed amused breath before she let go of the girl's hand and her head shook once more. "I can't believe Lucy was right." She continued, "She said you wouldn't talk to us because of Peter's proposal, because you might think you let us down or we wouldn't want to talk to you after."

Juliet's eyes fell to her hands, which, once freed from Susan's grasp, clasped together and began pulling on her once perfect nails. "She knows me well." She said, finally allowing the softness of a smile to lift the corners of her lips.

"I thought I did too, but it seems not as well as she does." Susan confessed as she sat back on her chair and motioned shortly for the other to sit too, in the chair closest to hers, as usual. "She wanted to go talk to you immediately the next day, but I told her it didn't make sense, that you just needed time to process what had happened and that everything would be back to normal soon, but when you didn't show up to dinner, or breakfast for two days... I knew something had to be really wrong." She paused. "I just didn't think Lucy could be right, I didn't think you would think us so petty as to not talk to you for rejecting Peter."

Almost immediately, Juliet's head began to shake, as her frame lowered and attempted to become comfortable in her usual chair by the Gentle Queen's side. "Nay, not petty, I swear." She began, "but loyal; for I thought  _he_ wouldst rather talk to me nevermore, thus thy loyalty to him would hold thee hostage into never speaking to me again. And I decided to stay away, to make of the matter an easier one that would allow our duties to the palace and Narnia itself to be untouched, so we could continue on, I made myself scarce less' I was needed."

The Gentle Queen could do no more than reply with the short scoff of breath that seemed enough to shock her own body back into work, for her hands reached for the silk flower she had been working on prior to the Lady's arrival and her concentration fell almost entirely to her work again. "I'd say." She said regardless, simply refusing to break the conversation now that it had been set to rights. "Even Edmund started asking after you yesterday, wondering if he should talk to you." The short breath of amusement left her lips again. "I guess there really is a first time for everything, isn't there?"

For a moment, all Juliet could do was nod and affirm the other's note with a simple "I guess so." After all, Edmund's own reaction to the proposal (the frown in his forehead from the moment she had stepped into the room making her think their talk had been for nothing, to the shock in his eyes when she was leaving the room) was only one of the many things she hadn't been able to stop thinking about since she had left the room that day; so to know even  _he_  seemed to have forgiven her rejection of his brother enough to offer to talk to her the day prior... well, it finally allowed for the one thing that had been bothering her even during her dreams to take over her mind entirely as her hands played with one of the many fabrics adoring of the Queen's big map table and escape her lips in a short wonder. "But how is King Peter?" Her eyes lifted to look at Susan again. "I may not have a wish to be his wife, but I still care for him, I'd never have wished to hurt him..."

To her surprise, Susan's head shook shortly once again. "You didn't." She said, allowing her eyes to leave her work so even her smile could be visible to Juliet when she looked at her again. "You  _really_  need to talk to him." She even reached a hand to rest on Juliet's playful one. "Sure, his ego got a bruise, but he recovered quite quickly; he even told me he was relieved you had said no."

Well, however small her own ego was, it surely had become bruised upon that moment. "Oh," she said because of it, her brows raising in surprise almost immediately, and once again becoming an open book assumption for anyone to see: things were back to normal, indeed. "I'm glad."

Of course Susan almost immediately laughed. "Not like that." She reassured, letting go of her and even going as far as returning to her work on the little silk flower. "Only that he said you were right; that you're like a sister to him, that he didn't love you like that." She looked at Juliet again. "Which, I knew already, by the way. After all, he didn't ever really make a fool of himself in front of you, which he used to do due to nerves back in England with this girl he liked." She looked down at her work again. "But we both realised that our duty as King and Queen was to choose a wife for him and husband for me, as I am supposed to do in this coming of age ball." Her hands stopped, the needle falling onto the table as her fingers so softly rearranged the silk that made up the little flower, the thoughts of her own nearing choice drowning her mind bit by bit with enough force that if she allowed it, it could floor her enough for it to be evident; hence the eternal concentration upon her duties to make the ball as perfect as all the others she had arranged.

And speaking; oh, speaking helped a lot. "So... what he said about you being a friend...." She began, nodding to herself, nodding to her friend beside her. "We all thought it would be the best solution, and Lucy was just... excited; I mean, the thought of her best friend marrying her brother..." She continued, finally looking up from her work to the amber eyed girl who could do no more than listen and attempt to understand. "But It was truly only political, you have to know that." The Queen continued; resting both her forearms on the table as the tempest of her eyes focused entirely on the girl by her side. "It was my idea, actually, because he didn't announce an engagement, and people were starting to talk, and then he couldn't decide on what Princess or other he might want to meet, and, it was taking so long, so you came to mind." She paused, her hand moving to rest on Juliet's once again. "See, he wasn't lying, what he said about you being a near saint in the eyes of all the Narnians, it's true; you're much more important to this world that you realise, Juliet, and it is that position that made me think of you as an option in the first place, because if he married you, then it would be like marrying a saint, something much better politically than a princess or Lady." She paused, looking down for a moment or two as she gathered her wits to continue on, lest the surprise in the young Protector's face shake her away from the confidence of her speech.

"Of course, the second reason," She forced herself to look up. "The reason that  _convinced_  me to say your name at all, was that I remembered that once, a while ago, he told me he thought he liked you; but... well, I conveniently forgot that it was long before we all became really close friends with you, and so I offered the idea, and of course, being Peter, the thought of fulfilling his duty as King overpowered anything else, because at least, if he married you, then it wouldn't have been like the old Kings of our world, that married someone they barely even knew, so he thought... well, he  _told_  me two days ago that he convinced himself that he  _had_  liked you once, and maybe he could learn to like you like that, so he began trying to court you."

"Court me?" Juliet finally spoke, her big amber eyes wide with the surprise of the other's words, which surprisingly made much more sense over the query of how it had all started. "I hath thought he had simply begun to crave my company for a friendly reason, not..." Oh, to think the situation had been so intricately thought, so planned... If she had been offended before, now she was only plain flattered, because, yes, she truly did not think she was that important to the world of Narnia or its creatures at all, let alone its Kings, but...  _You are essential to the future of Narnia; for you are its compass now and you will be forever more..._ The words spoken to her in a dream were enough to make her wonder just how blind to her surroundings she was, how absolutely blocked her own beliefs onto love were over the truth that she was supposed to do no more than protect it, not be part of it. For all she knew, her lack of acknowledgement onto the King's courting could have been the reason the two never fell in love to begin with; and love apart, was her meaning to all Narnians what Aslan had meant about her future? Her importance in the world, one she failed to see... could it help whatever future she had to help keep light? Thus, it appeared that not only had an attempt of love had been meant in her direction, one she had thought she was evermore immune to over the reality that her one rightful chance at it had ended her life, but she clearly had to open her eyes to the truth that surrounded her in general because the world outside of that palace thought much more of her than she had ever thought of herself.

Suddenly the words of her world's creator made a lot more sense.

"I'm sorry." Came Susan's voice, pulling the Italian away from the self-thought enlightenment that befell her with enough force from the soft squeeze of her hands to bring Juliet's eyes up to look into hers; the expression of as much disbelief as relief rested there now, and even a small smile lifted the corners of her lips. "I'm sorry we tried to use you like this, and—"

"Halt, I beg." Juliet interrupted, lifting her one free hand to rest atop Susan's before she continued onto the reassurance she so heartily wish to be left understood. "Thou hath not used me, nay'r would you have even if I'd said aye, for thou art not wrong, we  _are_  friends, and a friendship as a marriage is far more desirable than a match unknown, thus, I beg, blame thee not, for you were a sister, and a friend, trying to offer the best of the two options to one you love. Now I know such a thing, now I know I should not beg forgiveness for refusing the match, but be thankful, alike the King himself, for now he is free, free to find love, to truly marry for a reason he should, alike thee, my dearest Susan." She paused, now holding onto the Queen's hands as she had been holding onto hers. "Marry not because thou art a Queen, for this world hath not royalty for much longer than the century and more the horrid White Witch wished to make into her own, let thy subjects speak all they like, for there be peace in the realm, alliances are well, Queen Lucy hast made sure of it; if thou must search love, then take thy time, meet many, thou hast years before King Edmund's own ball, giv'th thus not more time to thee?"

"It does." Susan agreed, her eyes dancing in Juliet's own as if reason could be found there if not her words. "But there must be an heir to the Narnian throne, one of us must marry, and soon, because..."

The young Lady's head shook this time, her hands squeezing the Queen's shortly before she continued on; instead, Juliet spoke. "Nay'r you worry, I say." There was even a smile upon her lips. "For thou art Queen, alike thy siblings, until thy death, which should not come for years upon years." She comforted. "Give thineself time, fall in love, for thou hath time, endless amounts of it, thou art young. If any I have learnt in my travels to our other world 'tis that: mine ancestors were wrong, mine  _parents_  were wrong, thou are young at eighteen, not old. No spinster in the making, no old maid to never be loved, believe me, my dearest friend, thou art young."

So it seemed, so it felt, with the Queen's hands soft, her eyes wide, her personality as lively as it had been the day of their coronation; one mature, yes, and serious whenever the intent for politics came along, but oh, so young. It was easy now to see that Juliet herself had been but a babe out of the cradle by the time her parents wished her wed. There was hope in the Queen's eyes, there was youth, there was... dared she say it, even relief as she gulped whatever knot seemed to have formed in the middle of her throat before she squeezed her friend's hands once again and simply let them go. "Perhaps." She said, even patting the other's hands before sitting back on her chair and forcing her fingers to pick up the little silk flower she had abandoned. "But the ball must still happen;" She continued after a soft released breath. "And I need all the help I can get with the decorations, the ball is only two months away, and I am nowhere near done."

And that was that; the evidence of the ended conversation had been placed before Lucy's Lady entirely, as the Queen nudged a piece of fabric in her direction and even offered a needle before attempting to teach her how to make the intricate little silk flowers she had been found making, leaving young Juliet unable to do anything other than help with her hands yet continue to wonder within her mind: would her friend listen to Juliet's advice, or would the Gentle Queen get in the way of Susan-the-girl's life and make of her a young bride at eighteen?

Just alike the confirmation onto the enlightenment she thought she had gotten over the other's words... it seemed only time would tell. 


	15. Chapter 15

─ ♚ ─

"Will you just humour us by asking someone to Susan's ball?" The High King wondered, peeling the leather gloves he had used to spar with his brother off from his hands, and even going so far as to lifting a hand to allow it to collide with the other's back within some sense of camaraderie and perhaps even encouragement as they walked within the walls of Cair Paravel after a training session. "Truly, anyone." He continued, pocketing the gloves onto the back of his trousers and reaching for one of the many apples upon one of the countless decorative fruit bowls that lay in many of Cair Paravel's halls. "Anything to get people to stop talking about my lack of a wife already; even Lucy has a date. You know it's nothing serious, just... enough to—"

"—distract the masses, I know." Edmund easily completed within a shake of his head and a gentle plastered smile upon his lips. "Who would I even ask, though? It's not like you can arrange me a one ball date, can you?"

Of course the High King's head shook shortly but with enough purpose to make of his slowly retreating frame a serious one. "There's plenty of people in the castle, Ed, I'm sure you can figure it out; in fact, why don't you start thinking now?" He said, turning about just in time to not trip with the big stair well that would lead to the northern side of the castle, and instead be able to take the steps two at a time as, without turning to look at his brother, he called back. "After all, you've only got a week!"

And what a note to leave his brother behind with, leaving him exhausted, and with the troubled mindset of his new task as he mumbled something under his breath and turned around one of the many corridors that would lead him to the west wing; though, of course, not before prodding every fruit that lay on the surface of the lion's head platter and picking up one of the pears, only to have the bite he took into it echo throughout the empty entrance hall as he went. The situation was troubling, yes, not because he didn't know who he would ask, but because of the contrary: his mind could think of no one else other than the girl of the long brown curls that had been calling of his dreams a home for what felt like too long until that moment; even the night prior she had been there, smiling, laughing, holding his hand, and making of his already troubled mind a dizzy one over the insistent infatuation he had never even asked for. The problem was... the very situation that had had him frowning and angry for the entirety of the time he had known of Peter's planned proposal had become the one to put the obviousness of his solution to the ball debacle in a less evident placement within his mind for the mere reality that Juliet Capulet had said no to Peter himself; granted, it wasn't as if Edmund would be asking the girl to marry him (even the thought made him shudder a little bit), but who was to say that she wouldn't also say no to the simple non-important invitation to a coming of age ball? Would she not allow herself even that bit of fun?

What if she started thinking now Edmund was trying to court her?

Yet another bite into the pear echoed down the hall as the silence of a mortified sigh escaped the King's nose while his shoulder rolled and his free hand picked at the shoulder pads laced into his tunic; perhaps it was selfish to wish for the company of that girl he could barely stop thinking about ever since that rather unwanted first dream, but if not Juliet, then who? He would have asked Athena; they had become truly best friends since that fist sparring session; but once again, he had been beaten to it over the reality that he hadn't even thought of inviting anyone to Susan's ball in the first place. Besides, something inside his mind acted like the ten year old he no longer was and stomped his little feet with enough force to make his head hurt while it stated that if it wasn't Juliet then it was no one to go with him at all; hence the frustration he held within his chest as he pressed his back against the great wooden door that not only always separated the rest of the world from him and Narnia (and his many royal duties) but that he now hoped would separate him from his current situation and everything else.

Perhaps, like it always did, it would allow him to be a child again, to forget about the issues of his dreaming mind and reflect, instead, on himself as Aslan had intended him to, preparing him for court and his crown as the Just King, studying the old manuscripts, the old documents, all tales of the Witch's rise to power, Queen Swanwhite, the map of the Lone Islands, or the first icons of Aslan himself; all words that would help him in his future as judge, all history he would rather know and also proved he belonged and rested right at home. Indeed, those and many more tomes rested in Edmund's library (more important, he would say, than even those of his siblings); many of those, he noted with the pear held between his teeth, still unsorted, for the shoulder pads he threw across the room at that moment knocked a couple of books to the already cluttered floor. But still, he moved naturally around the stacks of books, stepping over maps and tools he used to measure the stars and water levels in any of his trips as he plucked the fruit from his mouth and stopped to truly admire the stream of light coming from the picture window behind his desk that illuminated years of work; work he had started as a child, work that gave him purpose, work that, sometimes, he even saw as attempting to right all the wrongs from the past even if in anything but his mind.

Indeed, it was a place where he could relax.

It was for it, actually, that a frown made a home of his forehead, and every single one of his muscles tensed as his head snapped upon the single rustling sound coming from around the left hand corner leading to the second part of the library; no one was supposed to be there, no one was allowed. Leaning his body slightly, the King put the pear down, automatically touching the head of his sword as he moved silently around the desk chair with eyes peeled and ready to take on anything that could in any way jump at him; he refused to almost even breathe, scanning through the mountains of books, ignoring the sealed walls and portraits staring down at him, even going so far as to poking his head around a suit of armour, past the fireplace and towards the sofas, where the subject of the sound finally came to be known, and it nearly made the King's heart stop, for there, curled up on the armchair he tended to love sitting on, rested the very subject he had been attempting to run away from: Lucy's Lady in Waiting and Protector, Juliet Capulet.

Now that he knew it was her and not some assassin, the King could as much relax as become annoyed onto his own mind for the fluttering echo of wings within his stomach that soon thereafter came with the vision she presented of peace and relaxation; one that almost even made the King's eyes narrow the moment the smile across her lips remained and her every breath continued undisturbed regardless of the many noises he had made upon arrival: she was reading. Warily, Edmund forced himself to look around in case Lucy was hiding somewhere in there too, noting the piles of books in an entirely different light that made the pride he had felt moments prior seem like a misconception over the reality that anyone could hide behind them at any given moment. At least, at  _that_  moment, he seemed to be safe, so he could focus instead on the curly haired girl with amber eyes who somehow still refused to note he was there; in fact, he even stood there, frowning, watching the immortal turn the page of the book in her hands and making him wonder why in the world he wasn't barking at her in one way or another full of annoyance. Why was he not demanding respect or throwing her out immediately over the truth that his library was private and not allowed to be visited by anyone he did not specifically led inside? Hell, not even Lucy herself, or Susan had seen as deep into his Library as Juliet Capulet had, and it was for it that Edmund suddenly felt so open and vulnerable within the place that once had been his perfect escape; he felt naked, as if the walls of his Western Wing could speak to her, tell her everything they saw of the child King as he grew up, spread it like an infection to the staff, to Peter's court, to Susan's ladies, leaving of him no more than a shell that regardless wrapped his arms tightly around his chest with the hopes of making a barrier between whatever she had found and his heart.

Indeed, he should be yelling at her, but the stupid ball of emotion in his chest (formed by Peter's stupid rejected proposal and the very conversation that had made him attempt thinking of Juliet as a friend instead of an annoyance) made it so impossible to do anything else other than brightly attempt to take control of the situation at once; thus, the moment the girl's fingers brushed upon the next page, his frame moved forward, stepping away from the light shadow of the big bookshelf he'd been looking around from, and forcing himself to breathe, to exhale, and to push for power with the single utterance that thereafter left his lips: "So, do you agree with my conclusion on Narnia's Zodiac Study: an Empirical Test?" His words were sharp, chocked out, but strong; attention-grabbing, straightforward, enough to not be doubted they came from a King. "Please, _do_  share your thoughts."

Of course her response was almost immediate; though one hard to bring forth for the reality that the silence of the room had multiplied within the words upon the book that had allowed her to travel word by word into a land of knowledge she had never even imagined existed when she had been a child. From stars, to constellations, to whatever other magnificent explanation rested upon the thin pages of the book she'd held; she passed one by one, the words floating around her and devouring her mind whole, and she loved it, she let it, she hungered for it, and it had showed on the smile the King had broken by the short speech that had made of the intruding girl into an outright shocked mess. She had been soaring as even the tips of her fingers had travelled along the words she read, each letter, each comma, each dot, marked onto her brain like a burning fire poker and making her, like a sadist, wish for more regardless of how she didn't entirely understand the many concepts it attempted to burn within her, but no longer.

The world outside had not mattered, evident for the silence the King had been witness to before he had spoken, for when her hands held a book no legend, duty, or call claimed her name; she became no protector, no famous tale of Narnia, no naive little girl, no hopeless avenging soul, she was just another reader, another set of eyes to learn it all. There were no sounds other than the turning of the pages, her breathing, and her fingers brushing on the sheets; there were no words other than the ones fired at her from the big books she found herself so fascinated by, there were no more searched comforts other than the smell of the tomes, the peace of the quiet, and the quick means in which her mind travelled entirely and without interruption through pages and pages of something new to learn; but again, no longer, for now she was there, caught, discovered to be somewhere she was not.

But hell, why should she not? Why, when there were plenty of libraries in the palace and only the one she stood in held enough of her interests? Not only for the books themselves, but for the scribbled notes along the margins, the covers torn by signs of weariness, making it obvious they'd been opened and closed endless times; and she loved it, to look so deeply into someone else's mind. It was all so wonderful, so fascinating, something commendable that even she did not see at all wrong regardless of how she was intruding; after all, books were meant to be read, and why would someone write something along the pages if they did not mean for it to be read too? It wasn't as if she had reached into someone's journal and read it all (the way her mother had once done). So why, then, did the young girl so quickly rise from her comfortable spot, forgoing of the hardcover that, with her motions, fell messily toward the ground, as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn't? As if she were not a Lady in the castle instead of an intruder; as if she were not supposed to be there at all?

Perhaps because she wasn't.

" _Oddio_!" She had called in her native Italian the second she had stood, seconds after his spoken words, with surprise having taken over entirely after hearing a voice so close when, before, the only echoes in the room had been of her own making. "King Edmund." Even a hand had lifted to rest upon the collar of her dress, as if resting her fingers there would make her magically beating heart calm and turn away from the thoughts that made her feel like a mouse caught with its paws on the cheese; granted, the face she looked into should not at all have surprised her when she very well knew (from the very first time she had gone in) that the library did technically belong to him, but with a book forgotten on the ground, and her heart almost fully beating out of her chest, she allowed a breath to express her own relief at the truth that the King was not in fact an evil-doer who could attempt to do her any harm (emphasis on attempt, really, not that they could). Still, the reality of her mortification upon being caught lifted merrily to her cheeks in a blush even she could not have been able to stop regardless of how the memory of the other's friendliness to her ever since her confrontation did nothing to stop her rather bold words to escape. "Why, perhaps I wouldst be able to tell of my opinion if thou hath allowed me to finish reading." Even her calm hand lowered onto a relaxing stature upon her stomach seconds before her frame moved to rescue the dropped book as if it were a beloved friend; which it might as well be.

Yes, the warmth remained upon her face, the apology undernoted within her words, even as her eyes focused on her hands, which so easily dusted off the cover and the spine of the book she'd so lovingly held moments prior, but the truth of her own comfort in that beloved world of hers made of her words free ones that left her lips even before she had deemed them proper to expel: "Not to mention, thy calligraphy, your majesty," she continued. "As fascinating as it seems, sometimes baffles me completely." It was an admission of a familiarity which allowed her arms to find comfort on the book she so happily held against her chest as her gentle amber eyes lifted to look onto the intruder of her peace. Though it was the shock there, the narrowed eyes and the single lifted brow making his displeasure known, that made her remember the precarious fine line her familiarity with the King stood on and made not only the smile that had been there dissipate slightly, but her realisation that the most important of her notions to the other had gone missing; "Oh." He  _was_ a King and she hadn't curtsied; a registration which had her features fumbling awkwardly for a second that came off more as a weird stance than a reverence at all. It seemed time had allowed her a spine as hard as the one from the book she held, and for it, she was even able to look the other directly in the eye regardless of the truth that, in all technicality's sake, she had not only been shortly rude for forgetting to curtsy, but she was also, indeed, trespassing.

It was a truth that did not escape Edmund at all, for he could not believe his eyes as much as his ears upon the way she spoke back to him; thus the glare that nearly drove a whole right in the middle of the other's forehead. The way she answered the remarks that had definitely not required any reply, and addressing him in a way that very evidently made clear her forgetfulness onto a title installed onto him from before they had met; speaking as if  _he_ were the one to disturb her peace, as if he were the one who should be apologising for having intruded, as if it were  _his_ fault to have been found out in  _his_ own wing in  _his_ private library whilst she had been soul-soaked in the pages of  _his_ own notes. He should yell at her, he should demand she leave immediately, he should do anything but smile the way he suddenly was as a breathed scoff left his lips and his arms fell at his sides in what he attempted to be evident displeasure. Of course he was taken aback by her every word, her every action, even as she rose and kept those precious gem eyes on his as if he were an equal; and yet he was completely compelled by her, he was intrigued, his chest was soaring as his hands crossed behind him, and there was that strange flutter of something within his stomach that nearly made him feel sick, an illness for which only her long brown curls, the little smile lifting the corners of her lips mirroring the sort he had only seen in dreams, the sound of her voice, were the only cure; he was compelled by her comments on a manuscript of which no other eye but his (and now hers) had laid upon, words that, perhaps if he had heard them outside of the place where he felt the most vulnerable he would be quick to admit to want to know more of; so what else could he do but punish her with silence? One that lasted as long as he willed it to whilst their gazes met, his almost challenging hers to fall to the ground, seeing if they would, walking closer, narrowing his eyes, even moving slowly into a walk around her as if she were one of his scientific specimens. But alas, she would not look away, so he did; feeling his jaw clenching as his gaze softened behind her when he saw the imprint of where her body had been curled up on the leather armchair, seeing the book clutched dearly into her hands, so close to her chest; oh dear Aslan, he had to distract himself. "I was not expecting any visitors, Lady Capulet." He finally said, forcing his eyes to look away from any reminder of her regardless of his address, moving, instead, to admire the portrait that lay near, but not centered above the fireplace (Aslan's picture rested there), his back to her, his hands still crossed behind him, his heart singing songs within his chest. "But I do apologise for the interruption." The echo of his sarcasm said, keeping his eyes on the canvas and the oils which captured Cair Paravel in all its enchanting beauty: the stone building of its walls, the trees adorning of its surroundings, the stairs, the towers, but above all, the depiction of Lucy and Susan playing in the water upon the beach below; a fact only the Kings would recognise, for the pair of girls playing upon the sand were barefooted, and the crown daisies that rested upon their heads would never be thought to belong to a Queen's, but oh, Peter and Edmund had requested it so, for their sisters could be no better depicted than that, with smiling faces, playful dispositions and the freedom of their childhood still present upon their every step; indeed, it was one of the few material objects not made of solid gold that actually brought joy and comfort to the Just King. "How untimely it was for you to be caught trespassing, was it not?" Surely, the distraction had worked, but those words, spoken barely two seconds after his initial remark, were enough to attempt another preference onto her being remorseful into evidence, proving to himself that he  _did_ mind her company upon his library regardless of how the admiration and the fluttering sensation remained within his mind and stomach; after all, she  _had_ broken the rules, she  _had_ gone trespassing into forbidden rooms, but she was also just entirely... he had to gulp.

Juliet had followed his movements with her eyes, minding his gaze as much as his words as she kept hold of the book against her chest and even her body moved slightly to keep him in her sights for as long as possible; but it was his words, the soft apology, the sarcasm tainting of such mutterings that truly shook every single ounce of her comfort away to bring upon the reminder that their friendship was a new one; that barely a few days prior his frown and glare had made of her a worried girl who had been proposed to unexpectedly by his very brother, that she  _was_ a subject and he the King: she  _had_ trespassed, she  _had_ done something she should not have, and what was worse, she'd done it for the entirety of a year, if not more, when she had passed by the other libraries and had been unable to find tomes that so wonderfully lured her as the King's scribbled notes and worn pages of books hidden in the West Wing's library had. Her guilt alone should have made her look down instead of looking him straight in the eye as if she were as much a friend to him as Lucy or Susan, truly show onto the apologetic reality of her own mindset just alike her grip tightening upon the book she held; yet may it be her comfort or the worry of her own emotions, but none of the true guilt showed for more than a pressed smile lifting for a short moment before the sardonic note in his spoken words drove the roll of her playful eyes before she spoke. "Aye, of course, you are right." She began; nothing but the freeing of her lips onto that finally full smile as she attempted her own guilt and apology to mirror upon the equally light words that continued to leave her lips. "I do apologise, your majesty, for I know I should not come here without thine sole word or invitation, but..." Ah, and there was the but; present even as her posture straightened, her arms relaxed, and her hands finally stretched to offer and give the book back to its owner – who barely even moved too much before taking hold of the offered tome – with the very note of regret onto her trespasses as evident in her little smile as in her tricksy words. "To mine defence, if I may have any, my King, I find it rather unfair thou should keep all this knowledge to thyself. For 'tis fascinating, sir; wonderful even, the sort one may not find in any other library in this palace, and such a thing, truthfully, 'tis mine thought that it should not be hidden." She confessed, allowing her hands to rest one atop the other on her stomach as she moved only one step closer to the chair that had comforted her for so long. "It all called to me, you see." She continued. "Planning of reading but one tome, but alas, I couldst not, for the words depicted there managed to take mine mind further than any other scripture hath, and thy notes, I... by God, thy notes, though unintelligible at times, they told me things I never would have even imagined. Oh, sir, I beg: speak true, wherefore must thou keep thus hidden when 'tis all so...?" But no more could be said, for the word she searched for was not found and all that was left was Edmund's surprised gaze watching her as the soft echo of a satisfied breath made her entire frame rise and fall with a soft defeat onto the seat she had been occupying.

Well, flattery would get her everywhere.

Still, his throat cleared, forcing the single sound to break the short silence between both teens as he rocked on the balls of his feet for a moment over the full intrigue left behind by her comments; notes which perhaps years prior would have annoyed him but now only made him naturally proud. After all, hers were the first eyes to set sight on his private words of the Zodiac of Narnia, and, as far as notes were, they were not at all bad. "If you must know," He began, forcing his eyes away from her frame, which had baffled him for the millionth time with that room-lighting smile of hers, and looking into the book she had handed him instead. "I am keeping these here for safety." He confessed as his fingers caressed the pages he turned one by one, touching where she touched, smiling at words she might have smiled at... dreams be damned for making him feel the way he did upon that moment. "As a guide, if you will, to write my own manuscript, which eventually would come to light and  _anyone_  would be allowed to read." The emphasis on the single word made his eyes lift in her direction with the near accusing grin upon his lips, only to see her smile become an apologetic line again; somewhat satiating the King's need for a truthful apology lacking of excuses as he perhaps would have demanded had anyone other than Juliet Capulet been found sitting on his favourite chair. "Does it interest you, really?" He wondered, perhaps with an air lacking of interest regardless of how the very situation had his heart doing pirouettes within his chest.

To his joy, the girl's response was nearly immediate. "Oh, very much." She confessed, her hands resting on her lap, her back resting happily where it had before, as if their friendship wasn't young, as if it were common for the two to spend time together in a place so private to him that it might as well be his own bedroom; if someone had told either of them weeks prior such a thing was possible, both of them would have actually laughed. "Nay'r much was spoken of the stars in Italy, not when I was alive." She then continued. "And when duty came upon me, when the Lords and Ladies Protectors of Love pulled me out of mine slumber prior to the birth of this world... well, I nay'r hath any time to note the stars, for there remained a purpose of my being there, forbidding me to do anything but what was necessary to keep soul mates upon the right path."

He truly had to ask her more about those Protectors of hers; if only he had more time to stop worrying about his stupid dreams and more about the reality that was Juliet Capulet as she stood (or sat) in front of him; if only the intrusion of his thought undeserving comfort would go away... "What about here?" He wondered then, forcing all other thoughts away as his hands rested upon the very chapter of the book he wondered her thoughts upon the most. "When Narnia was created, did you not wonder about the constellations? You saw the stars as what they are, didn't you? As people."

Of course, at this, the only thing young Juliet could do was smile so wide it made Edmund's heart make a silent jump within its cavity; unbeknownst to her, of course, who simply marvelled at the conversation and the fact that she had not been thrown out of the library when she perhaps should have been. "I did, aye. And I wondered, too, but..." How could she explain? The emptiness of her Mist of Forgetting compared to the full life brought forth upon the world's creation, the feeling of strangeness for the reality that there had been nothing at first; for years, decades, centuries, endless times the Protectors had sent her onto duty, only to send her Nowhere when she was done. Nowhere indeed, for it had been an endless mist of absolutely nothing but grey; shadows, darkness, emptiness, all loud with its endless quiet that had made her lose her mind enough times before to make her wish to simply roam the Earth as an unseen spirit—better unseen but roaming of an existing world than trapped in the endless nothingness of her eternal prison. "If I may be frank, your majesty, I nay'r allowed myself the time to truly enjoy this world until mine last conversation with Aslan not so long ago, for I always thought I lived only on borrowed time."

Perhaps he shouldn't have, but he could no more than only encourage her to go on with a curious gaze he rested upon her as he even moved to sit upon the second sofa opposite her. "Why not?" He wondered, for the reality of who she was made of his own mind a void of impossibility, willing not to even think he understood what she meant; after all, how could he, when he had felt the same due to his betrayal and the thought that at the smallest error, Aslan would send him away?

"Well, I... before this world's creation the place I called a home was nothing," She began, relaxed within the other's curiosity with as much welcome from her own mind as relief over her still being allowed to sit where she was in the first place. "'Twas empty, I couldst not feel, breathe, nay, nor speak, but I knew I was somewhere, a place of darkness and emptiness, aware of the seconds ticking by, thinking I wouldst but go insane while waiting for the next time the High Protectors might need me, but one day..." The soft echo of a breath relaxed her once again, her eyes fell, his gaze upon her heavy to her mind as she explained the reality she had lived in, existed in. "...aye, one day, upon the end of a mission, the mist of Nothing suddenly held something: a tender light, voices, a tree, a garden, animals, a beautiful bright sky... step by step it became the birth of something so magical that I confess to thee, my King, I thought mine mind had been lost, but nay'r did I care; if I  _had_  gone mad, then I embraced it, for I could feel again. There was breath within mine lungs; I could feel the soft moisture of the grass under my feet, I could feel the breeze playing with my hair... but nay, I thought 'twas a mistake, from that moment onwards I thought, aye, someone will note mine existence for the error it be and make me feel nothing again, and thus I lived for years, decades, centuries, never allowing mine mind to think of much else that was not a Protector's duty, or whether the next second I felt the warm air within my lungs might be the last." Yes, it had been something so entirely incredible as her feet had been allowed to touch the grass that only a blink prior had not been there upon that day; that magical, magical day when, before she knew it, a strange rush of  _something_ ran through her veins.

It had been a feeling so foreign for the reality that she hadn't felt anything within her own body for centuries before: it was shock, chills running down her spine as blood flowed heavy onto her heart for the first time in ages, a heart that beat once, twice, thrice, and finally allowed her to breathe, to touch, to live. That which she had only been allowed to experience in possession of others during her duty, but never with her own hands, had become hers to feel once again. The soft breeze as it played with her long hair, the tips of grass that tickled her naked feet, the mere gravity that held her to the ground and made it so that she could not stand at all at first, for she knew how to walk as others, but her own feet had forgotten how to move; life coursed through her and the tears followed; laughter, trembling digits that touched her long silk-like hair onto the disbelief that she was, in fact, alive again. But alas, such had been the last time she had enjoyed it, for every second thereafter had been full of the continuous thought that the end would come sooner than she wanted to allow herself to think; thus: "'Tis that very reason the one for which I hath not allowed mineself even a true home within this world, why the room thou hath given me within this castle was my first, and why... as thou hath wondered, I know'th nothing about the inner workings of this beautiful world we call a home." She finally concluded, pausing merely for the continued truth that would make of her speech one with a clear point: "Thus, aye, I am more interested in all of this"—she motioned with a single hand around the room—"than even thy majesty may believe."

The entrancement of the King was so evident that he even had to blink repeatedly to break his gaze away from her and the honey of her words, explaining to him more than he had ever thought to think of knowing about who Juliet Capulet was (more than the mere legend of the world of Narnia), and perhaps even making him think, he who had thought her presence nothing but an annoyance before, not only that he understood her, but that if there was anything that represented the truth that nothing could be more magical than Narnia itself, it was the very girl of long curly locks and a sun-like smile sitting in front of him. It was such a fact that brought an ease onto his mind that made his initial reaction over her reading the works in his library seem less of a trespass and more of a privilege; after all, there she was, a witness of creation itself, a witness of all the battles, all the kings, all the happiness and horror before he had even stepped into the world, and yet he had never even thought to ask her about it; indeed, it was a thought that made a small smile break his freckled skin, twitching at her confessions and the very reality that he had been much too annoyed before to realise that, if he had put all that pride aside (all the annoyance over feelings he didn't even want in the first place) he could have gotten much more information for his works than the already endless amounts from having asked the Beavers, or the centaurs, or the trees who wished at all to speak to him in the first place. Hell, he could have had her help managing timelines, making sure the details he depicted on his notes were right; he could have had someone to lead him in the right direction upon the knowledge he begged to drown in.

He could have had a friend for far longer than the one he had in Athena Ashdown.

His palm pressed flat against the words on the book he held before his hand flexed to close the tome with a small thud and his eyes fell on the subject of his dreams again; his face no longer showed any sense of dismay onto her bold words or unwanted company, no, instead, it almost became evident that Edmund Pevensie was beginning to feel at home once more, even with the amber gaze of the girl who had driven him crazy before. "I think, then, perhaps you should have this." He began, the depth of his brown eyes connecting with her amber gaze as his hand moved to offer the book he'd taken back from her at once. "For the time being, I mean; until you finish it." He paused, the smile still on his lips. "And perhaps, when you're done, you can come back and tell me what you think... in fact, no, I demand it." It was the expression of surprise, of joy in the girl's features—her widened eyes, the growing smile, even the hands that held onto the book he had given her as if it were a precious treasure held against her chest—that made the boy rise from his seat with an air of determination regardless of a mind that was completely screwed from the events unfolding and the strangeness of even his own actions as he looked into the nearest shelf, the pad of his finger caressing the spines of the books before he plucked one tome from its cavities and inspected the front cover before moving to offer her the brand new work selected. "Take this one too; it may be of interest to you." He continued; the smile still against his lips as he explained. "It's about the dryads and the trees; their changing of the leaves, their exotic fruits and the hidden messengers that live in their hearts..." He paused. "Lucy often speaks to them, I'm sure you know. She tells me they dance?" He tilted his head, letting his eyes focus only on her for a moment or two enough to see her nod within her continued surprise before turning back to the shelf he'd turned away from so his free hand grazed along the ends of the books once again, moving backward to stop and flick another out, placing it on top of the collection he found himself building up until two hard covers and a manuscript lay in the crook of his arm. "I expect these..." He continued, picking a last book from the shelf and placing it atop the pile before finally turning around to offer the entire pile to the waiting and still surprised girl on his favourite seat. "...to be returned in the condition in which I inherited them, I won't settle for less."

Almost immediately, the young Lady stood up, her eyes wide, her hands reaching for the offered tomes with a speck of disbelief and the smile across her lips showing of the joy that drove her with enough force that truly made the return of the fluttering inside the King's stomach become something almost embarrassing, as if she could even tell, as if her mind held anything but the joy of her situation or the relief at the outcome from her intrusion. "And once you've finished reading them, all of them, I want to hear your thoughts." He continued, almost even demanding it as his arms lifted and crossed upon his chest, forcing his feet to take him a step further from her, lest the other's proximity make of his heart and mind something even less endurable than it already was. "Consider it your punishment for coming in here unannounced." Even his grin reappeared upon his lips, for he finally allowed the vulnerability of his state to become evident, allowing himself to even be pleased with the cleverness escaping from his lips and the words she would soon thereafter read.

And there she was then, the smile wide upon her lips still, her eyes almost even sparkling with the joy of her assignment as much as with the sun coming from a near window; for everything he allowed her, all the things the books promised—the stars, the trees, the druids, the maps in the manuscript she had barely even looked at—were either different or nonexistent in the world outside of Narnia in such applied force that simply fascinated her enough to look at him the way she might actually have been looking at the book she'd been reading before. The entire situation brought with it a shock that mirrored in the lift of the corners of her lips even more than for the truth that not only she seemed to really like the things hidden in the King's mind, but that  _he_ wanted her to read more until she could tell him what she thought of the entire thing. "Oh, you mean it?" She could not even contain the elation that cursed through her veins as the King's head bobbed in a short nod; who would have thought? Going from thinking she might be truly punished, to have her expected work be reading and speaking about the subjects she studied... she couldn't help it: she held the offered books alongside the couple she had been given before as if they were made of glass, as if merely breathing too harshly near them might make them either fly away or wrinkle, as the precious possessions both teens so evidently thought them to be. "Oh, Edmund." Not only was it the very first time within private measures that the girl spoke his name alone, but he was also rather lucky that she was holding something in her hands, else the very emotion that made her wish to jump with joy would have led her to run over in the other's direction and hug him as if he were made of the very happiness she felt; but, well, not only was he a King, and perhaps a hug would be frowned upon in any circumstance within any world, but he was Edmund, the Just King, the one of the four Pevensie siblings who Juliet had never been able to have a proper friendship with until not too long ago and with whom any sense of camaraderie rested upon a fragile thin line she was fearful to cross, lest the growing friendship disappear and her duty with it. So, really, perhaps she was the lucky one to have her hands otherwise occupied, else her lack of thinking of what she should do before she did it would have made of a rather hopeful moment into perhaps something that, newfound friends or not, might end up turning the moment into one with much more tension than she would be able to take on.

Instead, she simply held the books and papers, keeping the smile upon her lips and refusing to fight against the very emotion that so clearly reached even her eyes. "Oh, your majesty, I vow to thee,  _no one_  will know; I will keep them safely hidden until I have turned the last page, and I will bring them back to thee." Even her long curls bounced as her head nodded, making of her eyes little slits over the truth of her grand smile and possibly too evident happiness. "I will protect them as if they were my own." Hell, her enthusiasm mimicked one from the very Queen for which she worked for, meaning that, above the strange flutter within his stomach (which had become almost expected whenever the girl was around), the King could not help but look fondly upon her; her happiness as she looked at the books and then him again, her smile of adulation and the sincerity spoken of her protection over his most prized possessions gave him a soft confidence that perhaps all would be well. "Though I must admit," The girl spoke again as her frame remained as it were and his hands clasped tightly behind him, pulling his shoulders back in the upright position that Edmund so often copied off Peter: asserting himself in a friendly manner so unlike the hunched stance his body was so used to; making it so that the newfound room within his rib cage allowed for the shaky inhale he let through that plastered smile to become easier as he listened to the continuation of her words, managing for the very pride he felt over having at all been the reason behind the girl's so bright a smile. "...If all punishments were thus, sir, I reckon I might do more harm than good, and so any knowing of it would, thus, I swear I shall say nothing." Yes, he'd trusted the books to safe hands, indeed. "Not only of what thy majesty hath allowed me, but the fact that 'tis called a punishment by thee at all, for it's a gift to me." She admitted, soft amber orbs dancing on his and making of his heart a jolly one over the smile and the note in her voice alike. "In all truth, thou hath made of me a very happy person."

If she only knew the meaning of his trust in her; to know that he had parted with one of the very first works he had set himself on, words, scribbles and annotations he had made when the first realisation of his thought-needed studies came into his head. But no, of course she couldn't know, how could she when he didn't speak of such? How could she know that perhaps his hands fidgeted behind his back over the reality he thought to be of a work as amateur as that of the one written by the tricksy mind of a thirteen year old? How could she know that his stomach was in knots, that his heart felt as if it were floating, that the very vulnerability he had allowed was not one he would so easily have gifted if she were anyone other than the girl who continued to make of his dreams a home? Perhaps if she had known she would have stayed quiet, simply thanked the King and gone on her way; continued onto the camaraderie they had seemed to have found, allowed the friendship to grow quicker over the joy shared... but alas, such was not her truth, for her lack of knowledge left her quick joy turning into too high a confidence allowing of her careful demeanour to disappear almost entirely and for it making the worst admission of words leaving her unthinking lips: "I thank thee, sir, for making this my punishment if thou would call it so, instead of banishing me from thy library forever more, for this place hast become a comfort to me for so long that now I think of it but as a second home."

And such was her most terrible mistake; for it seemed she had forgotten that, in the King's mind, such a moment had been the first time she had invaded his private space, making of her careless words a confession horrible enough to make the young King's smile disappear almost as quickly as it had come, his shoulders tense and the frown familiar to Juliet's eyes appear easily in between his brows. "Long?" He wondered, breaking the girl's thoughtless joy immediately and quickly enough to make her eyes grow wide and her lips press together as wondrous eyes expressed the apology that her lips seemed unable to release. Oh, what had she done? Where once there had been a peaceful mind, now all the King could think of was the many times she could have been sitting between the walls of a library so private without him knowing so; reading, touching, breathing in a space he had hidden away on purpose to protect not only the documents that lay between the shelf and the legal information stored in desk drawers, but his own thoughts, his vulnerability, his mind... and of course she knew she had done something wrong; how could she not? "How long?" Perhaps she had known all along, and if the other's demand to know the time spent in the place was not enough, then the familiar cold expression in his face and body was; enough, at least, to make her take a step back in worry and defence, feeling the tingling upon her feet that made her well aware that they wanted to run far away while she still could, for she had not seen that side of the King before: the side that led his hand to his sword, that made the anger on his voice echo like a catapult against stone, that made his eyes, once warm and calm, turn into a cold depth of darkness that did no more than remind her of the words spoken outside the palace walls  _The Just King is the harshest of them all,_ that his punishments, his judgements, forever held as true as the title he carried, that, for all she knew, the confession of trespassing for much longer than the one occasion could bring onto her more trouble that she was ready for, forgoing the newfound peace she had made with him and making of it the true crime it could come to be believed to be. For a man (a boy) ready to accept one single intrusion, even allowing her eyes to look deeper into his books, could not be tested by the confession she had made: a single slip from those treacherous lips she could seldom control over anything that was not someone else's secrets, but her own... and her silence was not helping her. "Juliet, how long?" His breath hitched regardless of the loud tone, his heart felt cold, and, as if by routine, whatever proximity the two held broke away as a single step led him further away from her than the step she had taken, as if she was completely unknown to him.

Indeed, the truth came thus: Juliet Capulet had never been one to easily hold her tongue, even when she had been but a human girl and no immortal or protector; she had gotten in too many a trouble for that truth (with her parents, with her Nurse, with the Friar too), and now there she was, the tension wrapping like a noose around her throat and making her almost unable to breathe, hands much too busy with the materials they held, making his words send a shiver through her spine and her features flinch slightly the second his voice raised. But what else did she expect when she had been knowingly going into a place in the castle she was never supposed to be in, not just once but many times, and had sorely confessed upon it? What else did she expect when the truth of it was, as snarky and bold as she forever had been, even those traits could not save her from the truth of the invasion she had committed? So what else could she do but speak the truth? "A little more than a year." She was doomed, anyway; never mind his playful punishment, never mind the camaraderie, never mind their friendship... she had screwed up.

It was evident in Edmund's deep-set frown of disbelief stirred by the betrayal having lain asleep since the moment he had found her curled up on his chair; his heart hammered into his chest, repeating, screaming, telling him how it had been right all along, that it had known his calm and collected approach to her having being in his library would eventually cause him nothing but hurt. He had been vulnerable, allowed her much more than she should have known, and all along she had already known too much... she had trodden on a wasps nest, and there was nothing the King could do to stop it; yes, he had snuffed out the discomfort he had felt only moments prior, and he felt weakened by its power, yet it was his anger making of all the other evils that constantly reminded him he couldn't control them with himself or others into a constant echo that yelled within his mind, for they had always been far too powerful, for the boy King could not lay any of those demons to rest, and it showed, his vulnerability had cost him a further invasion than he had thought. "You had no right." A strained vain pulsed upon his neck, alarmed and on edge, but this time, he did not attempt to push it back: the library had always been the place within which he had sought peace, comfort... yet now he knew it had been violated by someone so wrongly beloved by the people. She was no more than a maid of his younger sister's who seemed to have thought she'd ever had the right to go into the library of King Edmund the Just, Count of the Western Marsh and Duke of Lantern Waste; how could she? Red eyes refused to see his overreaction, for it didn't feel as such, they saw nothing but offenders of the hands that so tightly clutched the books he had so naively given her, his blood boiled, his vision glazed with the true hurt and vulnerability he had so easily allowed her to see and be witness of...

To think he had thought she could help him.

The worst part of it was that the young King knew the feeling burning within his chest upon that moment, for he had seen it reflected in Lucy's bright blue eyes when he had read her private journal what felt like an entire lifetime prior, exploiting her absence to snigger over the child's words of fantasy that amused him so once upon a time and now, there in the great palace, with a knighted title and a crown to his name, did Edmund Pevensie feel the betrayal too; only now did he truly understand Lucy's displeasure that day, only then, when the trespasses of Juliet Capulet dug a hole within his chest. After all, he had known the girl for only six years—and even  _knowing_ was too much of an overstatement, for the two had not spent time together until the confrontation where he had thought to have gained a friend—three of which he had spent either not acknowledging her at all, caring not for her existence, and three of which he had thought her annoying in her entirety, and now... now she stood there, silent, careful and apologetic for the few seconds his mind truly took to take in the rage and sense of betrayal running through his veins. "I want you to leave." It was a mutter that barely even reached her ears, but one carrying of much more power than the exclamation from before that it made the girl's once confident stance shrink into the guilt over the one truth that had always been hers: when she knew she had done something wrong, she spoke no more.

"I want you to not say another word, and leave." But none of her reactions were seen by the King, for pigmentation blotted onto his cheeks from the force of which he kept his tears at bay and anger alike; strained eyes, hands balled into fists and truly only disappointment evident within his frame as he turned around within his refusal to set his eyes on her, lest his heart betray him, lest his stomach turn into knots again, lest every single stupid emotion he had not asked for made of his anger seem less than it should have been over the truth of her intrusion. Even his mouth curled into such displeasure he even tried hiding by allowing his tongue to run over his teeth, glaring at the ground he had so happily stepped on moments prior; but he could feel her there, he could hear her breathing, he was so hatefully aware of her presence that almost immediately his voice rose once again and his voice strained: " _TAKE THOSE DAMN BOOKS AND LEAVE, NOW."_ He demanded. "BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND."

And what else could she do but listen? Forgo the pain and guilt within her mind shown by the frown in the middle of her forehead and any sense of previous joy gone as quickly as it had come; never mind her friendliness with the King moments prior, never mind the familiarity of his name slipped from her lips before, all she could do then was curtsy lowly, her eyes finally lowering to the ground onto the offence she knew had been hers. For it was not alike the time her parents had attempted forcing marriages onto her, or called a lively freedom a disobedience, no, the situation at that moment was much more serious, for it had been about trespassing into a King's turf, reading what she should not have, intruding, stepping and touching where she never should have even been tempted to do; oh, how sorry she was, with the books and manuscripts held tightly against her chest as safely as she could within her curtsy, thus impeding her hands from being placed upon the place her heart magically beat alike the apology taught to her when she had been barely a child; an apology she had made to King Peter... yet another Pevensie sibling she seemed to have let down.

The very realisation which became enough to encourage the young Protector to stop testing the waters of the other's patience, and, with a balance she had to be thankful for, rise without even making one of the tomes held within her hands tumble even a little bit from her grip. She truly willed her feet to run far and as quickly as they would with the swiftness with which she felt, stepping over books, tools and other spread out things upon the King's library, and holding of those given books the way he had instructed; willing to do no more than read them and count of it as a blessing she would surely be privy of no longer. She would be able to read, think, and enjoy it all while she could, for she was truly sure that any sense of friendship she may have had with the King had disappeared and only lived for the small space of perhaps even two or three weeks; and any hopes of being lent more books, even of the option she had been given to gift the king with her thoughts, would and had become null the moment his words had shaken her out of the private place and into the coolness of the palace hallways. Yes, she was lucky to be friends with the Kings and Queens, but it seemed she had forgotten that such a fact did not at all mean she had any right to treat them as equals, regardless of Susan's viewpoint that she was a saint; whether she was a legend in the world or not, she remained nothing but a Queen's Lady, meant to subdue and accept rules, not ignore them as she went and treated the world as her own regardless of how much it felt so as of late.

Because, no, the world had not been created  _for_ her, but with her in it; it had been a world she had been merely lucky to have seen be formed, one she had been lucky to have been given life within at all and it seemed the previous talks with the Queen and Aslan himself had come to have made her feel much more important than she really was. It was such things she thought of as her feet took her away from the library's wing and kept her shaken until she could push the door of her room open after crossing halls, climbing stairs, and walking onto an entirely different wing; for, yes, she needed to be alone, to think of what she had done, think of how serious her offence to King Edmund had been and how lightly she had taken it; she needed to think of how wrong her attitude had been, and how easily she seemed to have allowed it to take over her, for had she learnt nothing?

Was she doomed to live eternally either being arrogant or naive? 


	16. Chapter 16

─ ♚ ─

The debacle from that day within the library still shook like a storm within Juliet's mind, even after the week that had passed; her offences, the books still perfectly hidden within her wardrobe unless she were reading them—neatly, and safely placed behind a couple of boxes holding of her own books or art, just the place where she kept everything that mattered to her—the possible punishment, the apologies she hadn't been able to say with worry of angering the sixteen year old king further; she hadn't even felt as horribly as she did after leaving that library upon the incident of the year before, during that nasty accident that had resulted on a deep wound in the King's palm, long healed by her hands. The guilt ate at her deeper than that time, for that accident had been one where the King had left her with kind words and a question within her mind, but this time... no, this time she had been the one to leave with fear within her heart, and the array of apologies swallowed deep for the very worry of what the boy could do for an offence that seemed as deep as the one she had caused; it all remained within her heart at enough weight that, for the next few days, her demeanour had changed almost entirely: from one with every lack of worry onto what could happen to her, to someone who did exactly as she was told in ways she hadn't done in much longer than she dared admit. Hell, her mother would be really proud upon her behaviour, perhaps even asking why she hadn't been thus when she had been alive... but no, oh no, even her mother wouldn't be able to know that her submitted behaviour was not one shown because Juliet Capulet truly wanted to obey every single thing spoken to her, nor keep her eyes down most of the time, not entirely fooling the Queens with her continuous attempts at reassurance onto the truth that everything was alright (ignored now for the fact that, around them, at least, she acted almost the same as always), but because she was worried, as much for the possibility of a punishment brought by the Head of Justice, as it was the King she had offended, as for the reality that her lack of censorship could and possibly even would, one day, truly become her end.

She wished she learnt, that the loud depiction of the youngest King's voice would shake some sense into her as it echoed even in the worry of her subconscious along that week, but it seemed not to; not entirely, anyway, for, yes, her eyes lowered more than before, her lips remained pressed in a line with no signs of a smile to lift them or words to escape them unless it were to please her Valiant Queen, speak to Susan, finally talk to the High King, or when it was called for something else; but still, sometimes her eyes still boldly met the Kings and Queens' for much longer than they should allow it (dramatic as ever, thus forgetting of her close friendship to The High King and two Queens), lowering such a gaze only when they met the heavy brown gaze that she had offended in the first place; still her hands reached for things they shouldn't and returned whatever it was she had taken faster than anyone could notice; still her words escaped boldly above her station as Head of the Household towards guards or Lords, only to be begged of an apology that left the girl walking away with a frown across her forehead, and a gaze that refused to lift unless it was necessary. It was a situation making her much more aware of her own actions that left the young Lady mortified, annoyed, angry, absolutely frustrated with herself and with most people around her for the reality that, in her mind, she had absolutely no right directing such emotions to the Just King at all; not, of course, that she let such sentiments show for anything other than her silence or her own isolation onto her room or the gardens whenever she was not needed within the castle, which had become so usual within any of her free moments, that it even came to be expected even after the third day of that entirely too long week had come to pass , with nothing but the trees, the benches, the flowers to keep her company.

For she wanted to be alone, she wanted to rage and be frustrated onto her own arrogance, to punish herself into solitude if he would not and for as long as it took King Edmund to choose the sort of punishment she should be cast onto; the beauty around her felt undeserved, the peace of the birds singing above her like a mocking echo to her own disdain, and for it the soft frown resting in the middle of her forehead attempted to shadow everything else as her frame relaxed upon one of the many benches with the leather-bound notebook resting upon her lap, and the charcoal tightly held upon her fingers, pressing against the page expectant of art or penmanship as if it could rid her of her anger whilst she attempted depicting what the vineyards in her home had looked like from memory, with the hot Verona sun hitting every single grape and making them look like little spheres of wonder, drowning the air with the smell of fresh rain upon the dirt dampened by the waters brought by the servants. It was a thought that should have relaxed her, brought either joy or sorrow come from the depths of her heart, but even the peace of her thoughts, the breeze playing with her hair, or the echoes of nothing but the dancing tree branches, the birds, and the charcoal against the page could do nothing for the rage and guilt drowning every hollow in her heart; she wanted to forget everything, to simply be nothing but the girl who'd lived too long, to have no one call her Lady, or Miss, or  _nothing_ except Juliet, as she always should have been called (maybe then the titles would not have gotten to her head), she wanted to forget and be forgotten, for so deeply was the wound that festered within her chest and her head. And it was for it that a loud huff of bottled exasperation escaped from her lips like the hiss of a newly opened can of shaken cola the second the echo of steps reached her ears; after all, she had gone to any and all lengths to be left alone: going into the deepest parts of the gardens to let herself be lost through her sketches and memories, as if they would take her back to a time when she had had nothing to worry about other than running free through the very vineyards she attempted to depict.

Even her hand balled on the charcoal she held, her head moved onto the release of the tension on her neck alongside the close of her eyes, and for the first time since the door of that library had closed behind her, just as quickly as the steps got closer, her big mouth allowed for the frustration of the previous days to come tumbling from her lips as quickly as the words the note lighted: "Whomever you are, I beg thee, leave before I bind this book and throw it in thy direction; I want to be alone!" Thus, her eyes opened, her head turned in the direction of the newly halted steps, and, once again, her own idiocy reached her head in much more than just the red flush reaching onto her cheeks; but the realisation that the newcomer could have been as much her beloved younger Queen as the reality that faced her upon that moment made every single echo of her horror and guilt drop to the bottom of her stomach: Edmund Pevensie stood there, looking at her with risen brows and a small frown. As if it hadn't been enough that she had  _already_ offended the other once, now he had come about (whether looking for her or not, she did not know) when her own anger held her head over what she had done and caused, and she had been rude to him; even threatened him onto a harm as minute as the bound pages of her private thoughts and drawings; if she had only known it was him... would she ever truly learn to actually shut her mouth? " _Oh, per l'amore di tutto cio che e santo."_ She said in a mumble of her beloved Italian over the disbelief and annoyance onto herself of what she had said to the very King who could so easily hold her future at court in his hands.

So it was no surprise to her—as much as to him, who had come to know her well enough during the few months he had been polite to her before the attempted friendship had begun—that her eyes closed as her head returned to its previous position, with her heart quite strongly falling onto her stomach, and she forced her frame to lift from its resting place upon that bench, made her hands hold onto her leather bound book as tightly as she could, turned in his direction, and curtsied lowly before him, even going so far as to lower her head and make those brown waves of hers cascade over her shoulders in her refusal to look in his direction at all. "King Edmund, I am sorry." She said, note regretful, tired, reprimanding of her own stupidity, as if she hadn't been repeating such words in her mind endless times before, as if she had not learnt at all. "Of all people within these grounds, I promise thou art the least I thought would come through these paths, thus, I swear, had I known it to be thy majesty, I would not have said such a thing."

The difference from her low bow within his library before he had handed her the books and that specific moment where she held onto her leather-bound book and charcoal, was that where a smile had appeared upon her lips even playful upon that time, a press of her lips now came instead; where her eyes had stared right into his before, her eyes did at that moment only meet the floor; the curtsy remained for as long as he would have it so unlike it had barely even been remembered at the previous encounter, and the frown she had not even had a speck of within the library before everything had fallen apart, at that moment simply refused to disappear alongside the disappointment onto herself that became evident over the tension on her shoulders, all of which served only to further the guilt within the King's mind; a King who had regretted his outburst the second she had left, the second his mind was left in silence, with not even her presence to cause his head troubles. It was but his pride that had gotten in the way for the mere happenstance of knowing that a place he had thought private had not been so for more than a year, alike a read journal or a spy watching him sleep; but to yell at her, to cause such horrible displeasure on the girl who had brought him comfort without her even knowing it to the point in which she barely even looked at him anymore, it made him think that perhaps he had taken it too far. She had not smiled in a week, she had barely been in the castle, her eyes lowered whenever she looked at him, and the echo of a sense of politeness his ten year old self would have been happy to hear directed at him left her lips whenever she addressed him; perhaps once he would have thought  _finally,_ but now, with the promise of their friendship, the few times they had spent together in harmony, and the dreams (always the goddamn dreams) that had comforted as much as haunted him for however long they had been there, the warmth of her voice unmasked by politeness was a song he missed, the brightness of the smile reaching her eyes was a sight he longed for, the tiredness of the frown so invading in the middle of her forehead was an image he wished gone. Indeed, this was his fault as much as hers for trespassing where she shouldn't have... "Please." He said then, finally breaking the short silence formed by her words and his own frozen shock steps away from the bench she had been sitting on. "There is no need for an apology; I was the one to trespass this time." Words regretted almost the second they left over the deeper tension noted in Juliet's shoulders, as if it weren't enough that she punished herself with isolation, now she also had to be reminded of what she had done with as much spite as the words Edmund had expelled. "I mean..." He attempted, but it was too late, the words had left and any sense of an apology he had hoped had disappeared almost as quickly. "Wrong choice of words."

Clearly, for Juliet's frame refused to move; even the softness of her lower lip became caught by her teeth in the continuous tension that refused to free her shoulders; if only he knew how much she reprimanded herself for the past week, how her submission and obedience came from her own worry, her own fear. She didn't even know what he had attempted to do by speaking, for all she knew those gardens were also his favourite and private alike the library; after all, why else would he be there? "Forget the poor choice of words; I..." He paused, basking on the very last opportunity he had to ignore his own mind and simply leave, act as if their encounter had been a coincidence; he wanted to take it, to ignore the near challenge resting within his mind over the possibility of a single yes from Juliet Capulet where Peter had not been able to have one, regardless how less serious the situation he hoped for was. After all, he didn't need any of the emotion-filled drama, he didn't need one more thing to worry about other than the very nightmares and trauma that refused to loosen their hold on him, he didn't need... "I was looking for you... to talk." he began; his lips moving before he could stop them, and shocking himself as much as every single sense within Juliet's mind with enough force that her kind amber eyes, which had refused to look in his direction for far too long in his opinion, suddenly lifted and met his own; a relief brought into the boy's chest the second they did which thanked his lack of thinking before speaking for once as he stepped closer to her, and even attempted the sort of politeness he had only ever seen in Peter by offering her a hand before he spoke again. "I had to ask Lucy where you were." He continued, placing a short lift upon his lips to encourage the other to believe him; whether he needed the emotion or not... it was there, shining within his heart and dropped stomach as he looked into the gems in her eyes, able to bring back the one instance what felt like a lifetime prior when Peter had simply noted one single thing:  _you like her_ , he had said, willed by the other's actions, the smile wide, teasing; a reality which had made of the situation something much worse for the swiftness with which Edmund himself had replied with a single  _I really don't_ ; silly boy, denying boy, clueless boy; it had all simply encouraged his brother further onto the simple statement of:  _By the Lion, Edmund.... I think you have a crush on her_. He had not wanted to, he had not known what such a thing even was, but that bloody dream, the very first to even open his eyes onto the reality of Juliet's perfection... may all his better judgment help him, may his mind hate him for as long as it willed it, may his heart loathe him for having denied it for so long, even to himself because...  _By the Lion, Peter, I think I do._  "Please, you don't need to bow, not here." He said then, mindless of the thoughts that drowned him, and not pausing for longer than a couple of seconds with his offered hand after his first spoken words. "Please."

What else could the girl do than hold her charcoal on the same hand as her book and place her hand in his before she rose from the ground, her eyes on his, her lips parted over the apology she wished to speak again, the frown shadowing of her eyes for the continuance of its presence. "Wherefore doth thy majesty wish a word with me?" She wondered, for the echo of his voice in the library continued to fly within her mind, overpowering the kindness of his words upon that moment, the smile, even forgetting the still held hand by the time she stood before him and the curiosity of the situation shone highly upon her features.

But that tone... the sense of polite elegance heard in her voice only when she spoke to strangers, to King Lune, to any royal outside of his siblings; to hear that tone directed at him when it had not before, even when he had thought to hate her. "Please," he repeated for it, keeping her hand in his and even going as far as to lead her by it to the bench she had previously occupied, walking backwards, his eyes on hers, begging almost, something he never would have done lest it were someone he (may the Lion help him) trusted, as he lowered his frame to the bench the moment the back of his knees met the seat. "You need not be formal, I thought we were friends." He began; looking up at her with the apology he very much wished she could read without him having to say it out loud, even smiling, even sitting straight, all things he had seen and learnt from Peter, all things he hoped would seem as genuine as the words he attempted to speak.

Finally Juliet noted the continued hold upon her hand, and pulled it away from the other's hold so it could hold onto her skirts as tightly as the other held onto her charcoal and book, may it be for the nerves suddenly riding wild within her mind (for the possibility of a punishment, for the probability of a repeat of the loud echo he had screamed at her when she had been asked to leave, for the expression shining in his eyes that almost made her think he was sorry), or the lack of understanding of the ease with which his words left him, she did not know, but for the moment, she refused to sit; she couldn't, the fear and the anger were too much, and part of her wanted to run, to tell the boy they were friends no longer, apologise, truly the way she had meant to, for her trespasses, and leave; never mind her duty, never mind the fact that Aslan, as per Lucy's translation, had meant her to help the Just King onto peace, never mind that... Oh, what was she thinking? She could no more ignore Aslan's words than she could ignore her own heart, but still, she was angry, hence the lower of her gaze upon him as the single statement left her lips: "Aye, sir. Until I offended thee, nay'r I forget. Something for which I still hope to say sorry, but dared not at that moment: I wished not to anger thee further, not after my horrid mistakes." And she could, she finally could apologise the way she had meant to, with one knee on the ground and her hands resting on her beating heart, her eyes settled on the grass under her, her words expelled alike her family had once taught her, she could if she chose to; thus her movements led once again, so close as she rested to the King, attempting to move onto a position that allowed her to kneel even there, her dress forming a pool of colour around her, her hair cascading against her shoulders once again; but alas, she could not even make it all the way to the ground.

"No, Juliet, please." Edmund began, not even thinking twice before his hands moved to rest upon her elbows, stopping her frame from lowering enough alike she had meant to, and even moving, standing from his own seat shortly and finding one hand easily twisting to rid Juliet's from her book and charcoal in order to place it on the bench, where not she, nor now he, sat, so his hands could rest on hers, oh soft forbidding touch he had only had in dreams. "You  _have_  apologised." He stated, guilty brown eyes attempting to meet the other's amber gaze; something not too difficult to achieve over the shock his every action brought forth, managing to make the girl unable to do more than simply look at him with the question deeply written within her amber orbs. "I haven't."

And if the actions from the King had not been enough to confuse her, to make of her anger a pool to drown in for as long as the confusion remained, then his words most definitely had; they made her forget her surroundings, the birds singing above, the leaves dancing with the breeze, the steady beat of her heart, his hands on hers. "You?" She wondered for it, her lids blinking repeatedly, as if it were enough to either erase the confusion from her mind, or make sense of what he spoke. "Your majesty, why would—"

"Edmund." He interrupted, finally within the understanding of the reason behind his siblings' allowance of the girl's quick usage of their given name. "Please, call me Edmund." He could remember how it had sounded in her lips; soft, kind, playful...

But Juliet could do no such a thing; not then, not when her heart still rested heavy with the guilt, with the gentle fear of a coming punishment regardless of the gentleness with which he spoke to her, not when the echo of his displeasure hung around her neck like a noose she had hated herself for within the entire past week. It was for it that her eyes fell to their held hands, and the soft need to pull away from him came back; how could she forget about her anger, the one that had made her scream at him, the one that had kept her quiet for days. "I don't understand." She began, her attempt to move back finally made by the movement of her hands being pulled from his as her steps broke the centimetres that had divided them before and turned them into perhaps even a whole meter, her hands balling upon the fabric of her dress once more whilst her eyes focused only on his own, as if the explanation could rest there, as if he need not speak for her to understand; it was impossible. "Thou screams't at me upon my disobedience, my trespassing onto thy library for much longer than I had allowed, which, aye, I understand, and I have been meaning to apologise for from before I left that room;" She easily confessed; after all, truth had never been hard to come by when it came to her. "I scolded mine own self every time my disobedience returned, for I hath waited for a punishment from thy majesty come since that day, I could not sleep very well, for all I saw was Aslan disappointed, I could nay'r do more than my duty as Head of the Household and thereafter make mine self scarce, finally doing as thou hath wished for longer than I may think, lest my great big mouth displeased anyone again, yet now, thou coms't hither, claiming to have been looking for me, forbidding my apologies, regardless of how necessary they have been, stating we are still friends, telling me to use thy name instead of thy title, alike thou hath requested from the moment we met, and going as so far to state it be thee who should apologise?" She wondered, her hands releasing her skirt for the mere motion they begged of resting upon her stomach, for suddenly it hurt as much as her head; nothing, simply nothing made any sense, and the very anger that had overpowered her from the beginning of that week turned, finally, into mere sorrow. "I beg, forgive me, your majesty, but my unease hath returned, for I am merely a Lady thinking me to be ever wrong or naive, and thy words, sir, thy actions, they help not, for I thought mine offenses onto thee were great, and thy kindness, the gentle utterance left by thy royal lips, they confuse me, sir." She paused, finally taking one single step in his direction, the tears threatening upon her slowly watering eyes as much as the evident confusion in her mind. "Doth thou loathe me or like me? Is thy heart able to tolerate me, or may it will my presence gone? Have I offended thee, or is thy majesty so sure of my friendship now that I hath but hated mine own self for the entirety of this week for nothing? I beg, sir, tell, me, for I am nay'r but a girl, immortal as I may be, I know not what thou think'st 'less thou speak of it, and thou doth not, ever." Taking yet another step, she allowed her hands to lower from her stomach onto the near pleading her words allowed. "For years I have tried, and e'yr I think I have done something right, thou prov'st it wrong by hating me even more, and I—"

"I don't hate you, Juliet! I truly don't." The Just King quickly interrupted, his steps leading him even closer to the girl of the gentle amber eyes and the beautiful smile, his head screaming, his heart fluttering in gentle songs that he once had loathed, but now could do no more than almost entirely embrace.  _I have tried,_ he wanted to say, but the words could not leave; Aslan help him, he was too slow.

"Then why!" The girl repeated for what felt like the millionth time whenever he attempted denying his hate for her, something so palpable that she had even grown used to it for all the time before her confrontation under that tree. "How canst thou come to me speaking of a lack of hatred when we have had but counted moments that end not in thy loud voice toward me, or mine own anger towards thee? How, when thy majesty seemed fine with the thought of one single intrusion within thy library, but upon the thought of more than a year, thou yelled at me as if I had murdered someone, making me doubt even upon my own thoughts, that perhaps you were right: I  _am_  disobedient, I am intrusive, I know not my place, and aye, sir, you  _were_  right, I thought you were, I am too free with thy royal siblings, clearly, else the High King's proposal never would have come. Thus, aye, hate me, sir, thou art right, even my late family wouldst agree with thee: I am a lost cause, I will never learn, I—" Yet that was as far as she had been able to get, for the space between them had not been enough, the thoughts in the King's mind too much, and her words even more, making it so that, by the time it happened not one of them had had time to realise it until it was too late: the space between them had disappeared, the King's hands had so easily reached for hers, pulling her the way he had done so only in dreams, and alike those dreams, the moment she was close enough, his lips pressed to hers.

It was a moment so unexpected that neither of them could breathe for a moment or two; her mind had gone blank, her frame frozen where it was: with her hands resting on his forearms over the reality that he had not let her go, her heart nearly quiet over the surprise of the moment, and his mind? Oh, his mind caught up a little too late, for it was those dreams that haunted it that allowed his body to move before it should have, her soft lips on his, softer than he had imagined, the echo of his heart against his ears; it was his first ever kiss, and he had no idea what he was doing. Until, at last, their minds caught up with the situation and the shock of the moment invited the young Lady to pull away as quickly as she noted what was going on; her eyes were wide as she took a step back, because in truth, out of all the possibilities that had played within her head, the one that had happened was not even the furthest on the list; it was simply  _not_ a possibility at all. Not only for her own blinded mind onto the reality that such emotions as attraction or love were, as she thought, not ever again meant for her, but because Edmund Pevensie hated her; she believed so more and more with every day that passed, yet now, to be kissed by the Just King, when she had not kissed anyone for centuries upon centuries... she had forgotten what it was like, how the world disappeared for a second or two, how... But no, no, it was impossible. Forget the hatred she thought he had felt for her, what about the rest? What about the fact that she had a certain duty to uphold, what about the fact that she was meant to be the witness, not the player, what about... "Edmund, I..." What about the fact that he was a King and she was no more than his sister's Lady?

As if Juliet's inner thoughts weren't enough, Edmund's were even worse; not only for the truth that he had not planned such an action, but because the realisation of what he had done did not truly come until she had pulled away, until her hands begun slipping from his grasp, until her words spoke of a rejection he had not even been able to place an offer for. He had gone too fast—for yes, he had kissed her endlessly within his dreams, thus perhaps it had not been fast enough for him, but her? She didn't even know, she  _couldn't_ even know, not when he had acted the way he had, not when he had made it so clear that he did loathe her. For it he spoke as quickly as he could the moment the rejection began to become verbal; his hands holding onto hers before she could slip from his grasp entirely, if anything just so he could make his case (when he hadn't even thought he was going to have a case to make). "Don't, don't say anything." He began, taking the one step toward her that she had taken away. "Please, I'm sorry, I..." How was he even supposed to know how to deal with something like this? "I don't know what I was thinking, or doing, really, I... this is obviously not why I came here; I never thought this was going to—that I would..."

God, he was always so slow with her. "Edmund..." She had begun again, that soft note still leaving from her lips.

"No, listen." He began, even going as far as to let her hands go, to give her the space she could need, to make the situation a little easier as much for her as for himself. "I know what you're going to say," A statement perhaps true enough if he were to assume from the situation with Peter; but one that perhaps left him wondering when the girl's brows lifted with the curiosity of what he was going to say; her hands returning to ball upon her dress in the notion of nervousness he had grown to think fondly of. "You already said it to Peter, you said you won't marry for anything other than love, and that's fine, I'm not asking you to marry me, truly." He admitted, even allowing a smile upon his lips for the reality that the thought of such an action still made him shiver; at least that much he would not hide. "I'm only asking you to go to Susan's ball with me, that's all. That..."  _Kiss, come on, Edmund, say it_ ; but he couldn't, he could no earlier admit to what he had done as he could hope for her rejection, thus leaving him to do no more than motion with his hands for a moment before simply going on. "I didn't plan that, okay? I guess I just... I didn't know how else to make you stop talking." Good excuse.

A fact amusing enough to make the girl smile regardless of how her gaze fell to the ground and her arms moved to wrap comforting around her; the soft curls of her hair falling in a gentle waterfall over her shoulder as the truth of his words befell her. "Aye, I do speak a lot." She said, focused mostly on the relief that a second proposal was not underway; especially not one that she truly would have had a hard time thinking of as anything but a joke, given his attitude toward her. But that kiss... damn it, that kiss had definitely distracted her, made her forget the things she had even been saying, made her forget why she had even been angry in the first place; for the first time since that hasty proposal from the High King, Juliet Capulet felt speechless.

"No, you speak enough." He said quickly enough to make her eyes lift to his again, able to note the small smile lifting of his lips, and leaving her much more speechless than before; he acted the way he had upon those few moments they had been happy around each other; he acted in such a way that, if she was not careful, she truly would believe the words he thereafter said: "Because you were right, all of those things were unfair to you, but I promise, I don't hate you." He paused, making the girl gulp the very knot formed by the ease with which he spoke. "I don't think I would have been able to do that or invite you to the ball if I did." Yes,  _that_ ; it would take a little longer for him to be able to admit he had kissed her, even to himself.

Still, Juliet's eyes focused on his, the soft vulnerability she saw there, the smile upon his lips, the sort of gentleness she had seen only two times before; a clear contrast from the frown or the stoic expression he kept publically whenever she was around. "What about thy library?" Yes, what about the offenses, the screaming, the true sense of hatred he had expelled in her direction many more times than one ever since they had met. How could she let any of it go when she didn't know the reason behind such actions was that the boy had been fighting against his emotions toward her for years? From the drop of his stomach whenever she smiled, to the note of the beauty of her hair, to her eyes, to her voice; how could she simply let it go when, for gentle Juliet, it all had been like a change of mood from one day to the next, with scarce any evidence that the boy didn't entirely hate her during the barely single month or two it had been since her confrontation under that mighty tree?

If only he could be okay enough to speak about every single thought he had had, about the way he saw her, the way he thought of her, even if not his dreams (even he had a limit); but alas, all he could do, for now, was to be as honest as he could: after all, he had only come to terms with his infatuation with her for a few days. "Forget about the library, I was too harsh." He said. "I was too proud to think someone else had been in a place I thought of as a refuge from the world."  _Much more so that it had been you,_  he completed in his head before simply lifting both shoulders in a single shrug. "Too scared to know what you had read, but my yelling at you didn't make you forget what you had read, so it was... stupid of me, I guess." He released a breath; if only he had the way with words that the gentle girl in front of him did. Alas, all he could do was clear his throat. "So forget about it. I'm sorry for reacting like that, you can go in as much as you like, it's your library now too, just... you know, don't tell anyone."

At least, at that, Lucy's Lady smiled; of course part of her continued to be unable to understand the change within the Just King's attitude, but it beat trying to decipher his silences as she had been doing for the past few years; at least she could breathe. "I woulds't never, sir; I nay'r did before, so nothing would make me tell now, I promise."

Even more to her surprise, the King's smile lifted even further, making it a real smile now. "I know." He said; because he did, and that was the reason he had regretted his outburst more than anything else: she had never told anyone about what she read, she had never boasted about being in the King's private library, no one had ever known; hell, if she hadn't spoken about it, if she hadn't been caught, even Edmund himself might have never known. His library could not be in more trusting hands than Juliet's own... and how he had repaid it? Yelling. "That's why I'm trusting you with it for as long as you'd like." And for it, he finally offered his hand once again. "Please," He repeated, now with much less tension than the very first time he had spoken the word upon their encounter. "Come to the ball with me."

Perhaps, if anyone asked gentle Juliet the reason behind her actions, she would have blamed her sense of duty, her curiosity, her lack of understanding; but whatever reason hid within her mind, it did not take too long for her eyes to focus on his, the soft smile to lift the corners of her lips, and finally, with the relief and the release from the anger which had held her for days, simply, and calmly, she moved to take his hand. "It would be mine honour."

That was how it had all begun.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTE & DISCLAIMER:** Just a little reminder to you wonderful people who read this: there has been a character appearing in previous chapters that does not belong to me; Athena Ashdown. She is a happy & very generous loan from my best friend, Jas, who created her for her own story, Helpless (find under username indigogalaxyjas in Wattpad). I do hope you go & read it, for it is the best fic I've read in my life thus far, & Athena is the best original character I've seen & read in a long, long time; it's why she is simply my third overall favourite character of all times just below Edmund & Juliet, which is why I feel so thankful, honoured, & absolutely ecstatic to be allowed to write her into my story as well. Thank you for gifting me that honour, Jas, & thank you, dear reader, for continuing to read this story; I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you love this strange little pairing as much as I do. Thank you! Smile because you can!! x
> 
> ~Mel

─ ♚ ─

She didn't know what she was doing, pinching her cheeks, making sure the blue satin of her gown fell in all the right places with enough carefulness that she wouldn't fall whilst she walked, making her head into a little halo adorned with diamond stars and golden thread that made her look like the angel she didn't know Edmund Pevensie thought her to be; but why? The kiss shared in the gardens had been a mere happenstance she had not been able to prevent, for it had taken her by surprise (more for the one who had kissed her than the reality that she had not kissed anyone with her own lips since Romeo Montague), and it had shaken every single nerve within her being, every single thought of who she was and was meant to be, but she  _knew_  who she was, she knew who she  _couldn't_  be: she couldn't be Edmund Pevensie's anything other than friend, she wasn't meant to be anything else; she couldn't be, because she was a Protector, a witness, an observer... she couldn't be a part of his story, she wasn't even a secondary character. How could she be when everything she had been taught told her otherwise?  _True love comes only once_ they had said, and hers had already come; she could remember the day it had ended, she could remember Romeo's smile, those beautiful green eyes and the curly hair framing his face, she could remember his touch  _è il nostro destino_ he had said, kissing her, touching her; she could remember his laughter, his poetry as he spoke, his continuous claims of her being a saint where he was a pleading pilgrim. Yes, true love had already called her name, and ever since that bloody end at the sharp end of his dagger sheathed upon her beating heart, no other sense of romance had ever seemed to be for her; not only for her own beliefs, but for the Protector's words upon their offer:  _you shall never love again, you will be an observer, a witness, a protector of all those innocent souls who dared to love, those gifted of our magic who are true soul mates, that is what you're giving up._ And she had agreed, without even thinking twice about it, because her love for Romeo Montague had ended her life, her one instance at a young love had ended bloody, and anything other than true love did not seem at all worth it.

So then how could she even think of anything short of love as what Edmund Pevensie proposed; the mere invitation of a ball, one single kiss... had not all that been the exact same offer from the gentle poetry of Romeo's words? Yes, her blinded reality onto love's prohibition had made it impossible for her to see Peter that way; it had made her into an oblivious little thing that had thought all sorts of affection to be nothing but friendship, and thus landed her into the more than unexpected proposal from the High King. But she was not blind now, and no clearer instance of infatuation could be placed than the kiss pressed against her lips that day by Edmund's own, a kiss that had haunted her for the entirety of the wait until Queen Susan's ball, a kiss that had made a gentle hinted smile lift her lips whenever the youngest King was around, a kiss that reminded her day by day that she had agreed, against her best instincts, to go to the ball with him, a kiss that could mean no more than a single infatuation meant to disappear eventually for the reality that true love was not for her ever again. Oh, why had she said yes?

Why when she was not supposed to?

She had never even thought of Edmund in such a way; how could she when he had but hated her from the day they had met; and now the ball she prepared for, the ball she looked like a goddess for as she forced herself to look away from her reflection and walked diligently outside of her chambers, it could invite something so dangerous as the boy's insistence of perhaps a second kiss, his infatuation, the only level of affection he could ever come to feel for her, something that would disappear, something she was encouraging when it was not fair to her or him. How could it be? How could any of it be thought of anything but torture when the boy was a King and his destiny far from hers into the arms of someone he would eventually come to truly  _love_ , like a princess, or a Queen? Not that she thought she wasn't worthy, but she was not allowed: her one chance at true love had been lived, and what else could be worth fighting for than true love? There was only  _one_ true love, and Edmund Pevensie had not been hers, so how could she think it worth it? How could she think of it as anything more than a mere torture of the reminder of what she could never again have? Oh, she shouldn't have agreed, she shouldn't have allowed the joy of a first kiss—something so absolutely glorious that had fogged her mind enough to forget her place—to blind her enough to get her to agree to something so dangerous as hope.  _I only did it to get you to stop talking._ Aye, but the doors opened by such a halted speech could bring so much more, and it was not fair, it was— "Oh!" The young Protector said the moment a great collision against someone else stole her breath away, making her hand lift to the place upon her chest where the contact had been the harshest and pushing her mind right out of the guilty reverie that had taken hold of it. "I beg thy pardon, I wasn't looking, I am—" She begun, her eyes lifting finally onto the one exclaiming of her own carefulness and managed enough to finally stand before the other whilst her warrior hands dusted the folds of her lilac gown. "—oh, Lady Athena." Juliet noted, her hands resting still on her chest as her mind attempted to shake itself away from its own worries to focus on as much the much awaited introduction to the brunette who finally lifted her eyes to look at her, as the duty that led her forth to, as Lady to the Queen, take Lucy down the stairs and into the ball. "My apologies I—"

To her surprise, the other's head begun to shake, a smile as beautiful as the entirety of her presence wrapped in a gorgeous gown of lilac satin, appearing across her lips, thus releasing Juliet from any worry for a moment or two. "No, please, Lady Juliet, it was my fault, I wasn't paying attention, I was trying to—" A breath escaped her lips as her hands presented ribbons attached to her dress that gentle Juliet had not even realised the other had been holding. "It's this stupid dress, I forgot about the ribbons and now I can't tie them properly."

At last: normal problems. "Please, allow me." Juliet said; forgoing her own nervous hold on the blue silk of her dress as her hands lifted in offer to the other girl. "There be no need to struggle any longer if thou hast hands to help thee." To her surprise, the other's expression shifted from apology to relief as a single breathed  _thank you_  left Athena before, without even thinking twice about it, she moved as much her hands in offering to Juliet, who happily took the ribbons from her hands, as to give her back to the girl so she could actually tie the ribbons the way she could not. It all made Juliet smile, for the ease of tying ribbons was something so easy and casual she could have done it in her sleep (thank the Lord for all the things she had learnt whilst being Lucy's Lady), and it was something that could distract her from the very impossibilities that had ran through her mind before the collision had come about. Thank God for close living quarters. "I have been meaning to introduce myself to thee, your ladyship," She began, noting the short tension forming in the other's frame upon the title deserving of a marchioness, as she had been dubbed not too long prior; but still, Juliet's hands continued threading the ribbons where they should be and forcing her mind to focus only on that. "But I have been otherwise preoccupied, I am afraid." She paused. "So much, it seems, I nay'r knew thy quarters were so close to mine."

"Well, they're not  _this_  close." The Marchioness replied with a small smile, her hands resting on her stomach as if she were holding the dress in place, thankful for the other's help regardless of the rather insecure means with which she accepted the spoken title, and her eyes so easily travelling to the walls of the Valiant court's hallway, with the pastel colours, the pretty paintings and the definite differences between that hallway and the one right under it, where she resided. "My attempts at dealing with ribbons on my own apparently took me down a wrong turn, too." She said, even allowing the echo of a soft nervous laugh to escape from her lips. "My quarters are in the hall below, with the other... uh... the other nobles." The pause, of course the pause would be there; after all, how could Athena even think it normal that she was thought of as a noble at all? She was a mess found on the grounds of Narnia's forests once upon a time, not a Lady like the girl helping her with her dress. "I was trying to go to Lord Peridan's room, but..."

Of course the echo of the gentle laughter was equally matched by Juliet's own. "Thou hast taken a wrong turn indeed, your ladyship, the male nobility quarters rest below the female nobility, not above. Above is only the Valiant Court, as thou hast found." With the ease of a twist of the ribbon as it had attempted to be used, Juliet Capulet finally finished her work, and she was about to announce it when the soft voice of Athena Ashdown came before she could.

"Please, Lady Juliet, just... Athena." She said, her eyes upon the pretty polished rock floor she stood on as the discomfort of the once ignored title returned with the ease of Juliet's words. "Call me Athena." She requested, nearly holding onto her dress as if it alone were foreign skin, another reminder that she wasn't what everyone called her, that she was just Athena, the foreign daughter of Eve found in the grounds of the Eastern Woods with a mess for clothes and barely any idea of where she was. Even turning around by the other's lack of contact was hard enough when she thought to be called  _ladyship_ again. "Please." Lest the reality of her continuous thought of not belonging make her wish to skip the ball altogether.

If not by words, then at least by actions, Juliet seemed to understand; allowing no more than a nod as her hands returned to their nervous hold upon her gown and her feet took a step back allowing of the other's personal space once she had finished with her own aid. "Of course," She began, smiling even by the time the other finally turned to look at her. "But I may also demand thou callst me by no more than Juliet, if it be thy choice. For nay'r do I like to be called Lady more than I need to." She paused. "It reminds me of mine mother, and I praise to think me anything but the opposite of who she was."

To her relief, Athena's smile met her own; at last, something gone right. "Of course." She said, fixing her dress as discretely as she could. "Thank you for the help, then, Juliet." And she was about to turn around an leave, run and talk to Peridan, get him to convince her against the shuddering words within her mind that made her want to run and skip the dance, but just as quickly as the idea came, the other's words stoped even the slightest turn from coming to pass.

"Be this thy first ball?" Juliet wondered, finally moving from her frozen spot, and voicelessly encouraging the marchioness to join her in the little walk from her chambers to Lucy's, who was sure to be waiting for her already; thankfully, Lady Athena was there to keep her company, if not at least distract her mind from the possibilities her own head had already concocted to be viable from the royal Coming of Age ball.

And of course Athena agreed to the little walk, lest she be rude to the very first person who had actually accepted calling her by her first name outside of the Kings and Queens. "The first one where I'm escorted by a King, yes." She admitted; after all, perhaps if she truly thought about it, that was what she was most nervous about: not Peter, no, he was as much a friend as Edmund was, but everyone else's eyes on them, everyone's expectancy that she  _was_ in fact worthy of her title, everyone's easy means of knowing that she was not.

It seemed both girls had something to be worried about that night.

"Aye," Juliet agreed, her eyes falling away from Athena's, who so easily had taken to walking by her side for the few steps leading to the big wooden door where Lucy spent her private moments. "Mine as well," She confessed. "Though I must admit, King Edmund's invitation hath come noticeably unexpected." Not more than the kiss had, of course, but she wasn't going to say  _that_ ; all for trying to forget until she had to face him.

But the shock of those words were enough to make Athena's own worries disappear for at least a second: Edmund had asked Juliet? Edmund... who had gushed about a mysterious young woman during their sparring sessions, who seemed to be head deep in a crush she had barely even paid much attention to for more than single couple of teasing words onto the boy who had pretended to have no heart. "It did?" She wondered, more for the reality he had spoken to her, than the slowly connecting dots within her head: the mysterious girl, his telling her he may ask that girl to the ball, his anger at Peter's proposal... "Wait... so  _you_ 're the mysterious girl his majesty has described to me as a beautiful enigma?" She easily wondered, finding her reach into the other's hand had definitely not been needed for the quick halting steps as Juliet's eyes fell on her own.

"What?" God, Edmund had spoken about her to someone? If the mere thought of the invitation wasn't enough, now the other's words became enough to make her think she should  _run._

Not that the other noticed for anything other than her shocked expression, of course. "Yeah; I mean, not that Edmund has ever detailed his affection for  _you_ particularly, but he did say he was going to invite this... mysterious beauty to the ball, and here you are, invited by him." There was even a smile upon her lips, for now the beauty had a name, a face; and perhaps she should keep quiet about such things, but... well, Edmund was her friend, and if Athena could do something to help that friend, then... "I have to say, I am truly honoured, Juliet." She said, still holding the other's hand, and even squeezing it for the encouragement she attempted. "You must truly be amazing, because I have never heard him utter such words of admiration about anyone else before as he does about you, it's ridiculous." But Juliet could not speak; after all, what admiration could he have when he had loathed her so deeply before? He had wished her gone, he had insulted her, he had treated her like a nuisance even when she helped heal his hand... where could there even be room for admiration?  _I don't hate you..._

Or was she truly still so absolutely blind?

"Anyone who heard what he says would think he's already in love with you." Athena continued, regardless of Juliet's silence, regardless of how she should already have been gone to ask Peridan for help. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he  _did_ fall deeply and quickly in love with you at some point, actually. I even tease him about it." At that, she smiled; how could she not, when the idea of her best friend being in love brought joy to her heart?

But it was not such joys that Juliet Capulet was thinking about, but the words so easily spoken through Athena's full lips; how long had it been going on? Was it for much more than the kiss they had shared, his rage in the library, her own confrontation against his loathing expressions in her direction? How else could someone else know enough to think him in love? Could he ever even  _be_  truly in love? With her...? "Nay, I... 'tis impossible."

But no more could be said, for at that moment, the door to Lucy's room opened, and all talk of the Just King and his growing affections disappeared into formalities for the ball and curtsies for the Queen. Juliet was left to her own thoughts once again.

♦

He didn't know what he had done, and he was nervous; what had he been thinking? Asking Juliet Capulet to the ball when it couldn't possibly lead to anything more than the disappointment of her refusal, a few dances and more torturing dreams that made whatever spot in his heart hurt so deeply when he woke to the reality that he was nothing to the girl with eyes of amber, nothing but the King and perhaps a friend. How could he expect anything else when she had already said no to Peter, the High King, the bloody Magnificent; how could he have dared kiss her when her views on any romantic matter had already been set? How could she have said yes when her no to Peter Pevensie had been so loud it had hurt even him?

Oh, blasted be those stupid dreams that had even made him acknowledge his attraction to the girl; he wouldn't be so nervous if he had never known, if he had continued hating her, if he had ignored all possible thoughts about her that had led him to that moment. Blasted be her lips for looking so soft and making of his heart a tornado that destroyed his common sense in its path, thus making him kiss her the previous day, blasted be her long silk-like hair that drove him crazy every time he imagined threading his fingers through it, blast her, blast his dreams, blast it all. He hated feeling nervous, pacing upon the highest stair of the staircase leading to the great hall, just like he had been told to do since Juliet would be escorting Lucy there, he hated the fact that his heart felt as if it were about to run away from its cavity, he hated the fact that he had not even been able to stop thinking about her and that kiss.

Oh, that kiss; his first kiss...

"Edmund!" Lucy called from the bottom of the stairwell, holding onto her golden skirts and almost entirely leaving Juliet behind when she began running up the stairs to meet her brother, her crown bouncing atop her head with so much precision he even thought it was going to fall; he'd almost even forgotten his, it felt so natural atop his head. "Has Susan been presented yet? Am I late?"

The boy simply shook his head. "No, you're just in time." He told her, keeping his eyes on her regardless of the nagging in his head that made him wish he could look behind her, to the small spot of blue he could see in his side vision. "I think she was looking for you, actually, in the adjacent." And with no more than a nod from the Valiant Queen, she was gone, leaving the king behind with a smile, and running down the hallway into the one room behind the great hall; the place where anything private happened when the joy of royal balls were going on; with no more excuses to not look down the stairs at the beautiful amber eyed girl he had been scolding himself for inviting in the first place.

Indeed, there she was, holding onto her blue skirts of silk a little tighter than she usually would hold onto her clothes, her eyes focused on his frame regardless of how she wasn't alone, a small smile upon his lips regardless of how Athena Ashdown called for his attention right beside Juliet, but the vision of the soft blue silk against Juliet's skin, the cascading curly locks fixed by the diamonds and the golden thread to match her Queen's dress, the brightness of her amber eyes even under the many torches' lights, it was impossible to look away; she looked beautiful, breathtaking, she—"Edmund!" Athena's voice pulled him out of it, and no more than a frown could show for the displeasure of the fact at all; that, or the fact that his best friend was smiling as if he had told her the greatest joke of all.  _Oh, no._ "Peter?" She repeated, refusing to hide the smile of pure amusement that could come from nothing other than her connecting the dots.

He had to gulp; there went his attempts at trying to keep Juliet as no more than  _the mysterious girl_. "Waiting for you at the other stairwell." He said, his throat clearing regardless of if his frown didn't, "You were supposed to come with Peridan, not Lucy." Then again, he would thank her in his mind for pulling his attention away from Juliet, even for a moment. What the hell was he doing? "Where is he? Why are you coming from this stairwell?"

But God, she wouldn't stop smiling. "I ran into Juliet on her way to Lucy," Athena confessed, throwing a look in Juliet's direction, whose cheeks had lit so red she suddenly wished it was Ed instead of her who noticed. "We got talking, and next thing you know we were arriving here." She looked at him again; noting his tension, noting his eyes unwilling to stop looking at her, looking anywhere  _but_ Juliet. "Anyway," She continued, keeping the smile across her lips before she moved to take Juliet's hand with enough swiftness that even the Lady was surprised. "I leave you in good company..." she offered Edmund Juliet's hand, ignoring the daggers thrown by his heavy eyes or the gentle trembling in Juliet's touch to be noticed until the moment his hand so nearly automatically lifted to take Juliet's from Athena's without even a look in the amber eyed girl's direction. "...while I go look for your brother." She finished, letting go of Juliet's soft hand by the time Edmund's could wrap around it, and even going so far as to taking a small curtsy in her friend's direction. "Your Majesty." She still wouldn't stop smiling. "Juliet." And with that she was gone.

Entirely oblivious to the continuous looks Edmund kept throwing in her direction.

Indeed, alone at last, highly aware of the hold he had on Juliet, highly aware of the gentle trembling, or her silence, highly aware that he still wasn't looking at her; but could he be blamed? "I shudder at the thought of what she told you." He admitted, surprising even himself enough to finally turn and look at her; oh, why had he not before, why had he allowed Athena Ashdown to pull his sight away from her, with her pretty pink lips, her midday blue gown, the diamonds in her hair, the gems within her eyes... she looked beautiful, more than beautiful, and if he wasn't so slow, perhaps he would have been able to say such a thing, but alas...

"Nay'r a thing I did not need to hear, your majesty." She said, holding onto his hand a little tighter, and allowing the gentleness of her smile to encourage him along, to move into the great hall, to prepare themselves with the rest of the nobles and invited ones for the presentation of the Come of Age Queen: Susan, The Gentle.

But he would not move, instead his smile matched hers, and the only note he could make was the one made evident by his hold on her hand: "You're trembling, are you alright?" He even moved to try and hold her, be as it may, he stopped himself, even frowned over the reality of what he was about to do: something so natural to the girl in his dreams, but nothing the real Juliet could expect. Truly: what the hell was wrong with him?

Still, the young Protector shook her head, her eyes falling from the other's heavy gaze with the smile still present upon her lips. "I'm fine, I promise." She told him, even going so far as to taking a step toward the great hall, pulling him along with her still held hand, and forcing her eyes to lift to meet his. "I've not had a meal since this morning, perhaps it is that." She mused, and pulled him deeper along, only looking away when he begun to follow her, lest he note the lie behind her smile: she was terrified. Not because it was a ball, no, she had been to plenty of those, even before her death (three, to be exact, she was not allowed to go to balls until she was at least 13), not because she was there with Edmund even (she had always hoped he would become a friend), but because of what Athena Ashdown had told her, because of what it meant and what it could mean; after all, had her initial reaction to the King's kiss not been sadness over the fact that the only thing he could feel toward her was... well, infatuation, a gentle but forgettable romance, something that would not be fair to him, let alone her? But an infatuation was quick, a mere passing echo of time that disappeared after a week, at most a month, some stubborn couples lasted like that for even a year, but then what became of them was a blur, from lovers to strangers in record time; it had been as such after the first World War, so it had been her shock, when the beginning of freer relationships had been allowed. But to fall in love? To truly fall in love the way she knew was possible... with the fireworks, the warmth, the longing... it terrified her. After all, not only had her Protectors told her she was giving such a thing up, but the last time she had loved she had been used, she had been murdered; she had allowed her entire world to revolve around one person and how had he repaid her? Blood, pain and suffering; what if what Athena had said came true? What if Edmund Pevensie fell in love with her, worse, what if Juliet herself fell in love with him? Could she? Was her heart able to do that after what it had gone through? Could it be able to allow itself even after the centuries it had believed it could not? That was what terrified her; not the kisses, not the warmth of his arms if it ever came, not the longing her heart would feel if she ever did fall in love with him, but the possibility of what she had already once felt: the betrayal, the horror, the pain, the sadness... yes, who was she to stand in the way of true love, but who, still, was she to suffer through the pain of it all once more? Oh, how dare he? She was supposed to be an observer, not a player, she was supposed to be a witness, not part of the story, and now...

"Juliet?" His voice broke through her terrors and those amber eyes of hers finally focused on him, noting the freedom of her hands, noting the fact that the scenery had changed; she'd worried right through Susan's presentation, she'd worried right through everything up to the moment the music begun; Edmund was there, right beside her, smiling and looking at her as if she were the eighth world wonder, now she could see it, and God it did something to her stomach that she had not felt in entirely too long... but should she let it? "Are you sure you're alright?"

His hand reached for her, resting on her arm, just below her shoulder, the worry in his eyes was enough to make her heart hurt, and the note of his voice, one she had never before heard in that familiar voice before, was enough to make her think she was about to be dizzy, but still, she remained; just because her mind was terrified of what could come, it didn't mean she had to stop herself from enjoying the ball she had been preparing with Susan for nearing a year. "Aye, I promise." Even if she moved so his hand would fall from her arm and into her own hand instead, even if she rested unaware (or at least now  _almost_  unaware) of the very thoughts prodding through the King's mind, the mere repetition from when he had been waiting in the steps: what had he done? And worse: Had Athena said something in her conversation with the girl at his side? Or what in the world had meddled with the Lady's mind to make her usual cheerfulness disappear as quickly as it seemed to have done? "Shall we dance?" She wondered, stopping him, as usual, from saying anything at all, and even using the fall of his hand on hers to make the thought of a dance enticing enough by the gentle squeeze of her hand and the smile lifting of her lips, if not her mind.

But he knew that that smile, no he knew  _any_  smile from Juliet Capulet should reach her eyes, but the one inviting him did not; indeed, what had he done, he wondered for the millionth time that night, even as the girl led him to the dance floor and placed the public curtsy that was expected of her when dancing with a King and he presented the one expected in return; he took her in his arms, much closer than they had ever been for anything more than the little kiss he had placed upon her lips the previous day, and immediately said what he was thinking, low enough for only her to hear: "You regret coming with me, don't you?" Yes, it had been spoken like a question, but it wasn't one, he was almost sure of it; why else would she be so cold, so distant? Why else would she have been looking at anything but him until that specific moment? "That's why you can barely look at me."

They were words that shook Juliet to the core, for the truth spoken by his lips the day before or the confessions from his best friend, she didn't know, but at least upon that moment she did not know what else to do than focus entirely on the eyes that refused to meet hers as she spoke. "I really don't." But his eyes would still not look into her own, even through the steps the two continued along perfectly to match the rest of the crowd. "Look at me, I beg." She said, holding onto his hands or his arms as the dance requested and feeling all the more relieved when the familiarity of his brown eyes finally met her own. "I do anything but regret accepting thy invitation to this ball, I pray of thee believe me, for my words are true."

And he could believe that, for the note he had come to recognise as truth in her words adorned her speech upon that moment, and her eyes looked directly into his, those pretty amber gems he could so easily get lost in... "Then what's wrong?" He easily wondered, thankful for the music's slowing pace that allowed the two to merely waltz along without much more movement, with a hand resting on the silk waist of her dress and the other holding of her own. "Did something happen?"

It was a fact Juliet could be thankful for too, for the words she spoke were not ones she wished anyone else to overhear, and the privacy of a slower dance allowed her to speak lowly enough for only the two of them to hear, and more so, the gentle movement of a single nod to become evident to the youngest King. "Aye, thou couldst say such a thing, but it be something happening only within mine mind, nay a thing thou shouldst worry of or—"

"It's too late." The King interrupted, his attempts at being as quiet as he could leading him to rest his face merely inches from hers, his eyes looking into hers, getting lost in the specks of green hidden there, or the yellows and browns... colours he hadn't truly noticed had been there until now. "I'm already worried," he continued, forcing the words to leave his lips regardless of the continuous warnings from his own brain yelling loud enough for a headache to claim him, telling him to be quiet, telling him to simply dance with her until the ball was over and forget about everything else,  _let the dreams become your torture, let her go, she will never be yours._ "Tell me." He had never been one to listen easily, not even to his own head.

But her eyes fell, focusing on the green satin on the details of his clothes, for she rested so close to him that the furthest down she could look was simply his chest; could it be so easy as that? Simply saying it out loud, speak of what horrors her mind concocted, what prohibitions her Protectors had claimed? Could she really just... "I know thee not to speak too much, sir. Not to me," She begun, unsure of what her lips would form before they did express the words, but allowing them their trip as she always had. "Enough so that until thy friendship to me, nay, further yet, until thy... invitation,"  _thy kiss,_ it was spoken within the undertones of the way her eyes finally looked into his again. "I hath but thought thou loathed me—regardless of thy continued claims that you did not..." She quickly said when his lips begun to part, probably to claim for the millionth time that he truly didn't.  _If she only knew._  "But thou speaks't with someone, and the truth spoken there is one I hath nay'r imagined, not from thee, not when—"

"Lady Athena really should learn to keep her mouth shut." Edmund quickly said, his eyes looking away from Juliet's almost immediately upon the search of the only true friend he'd had outside his family; lucky for her, she was too busy dancing with Peter to notice his second-given deadly stare. He knew she had said something, he knew, but how had she known it was Juliet, how had she—yet the gentle touch from Juliet's finger tips upon his cheek became enough to make his frame relax, his eyes lower, and his gaze finally connect with hers once again. Oh, how he wanted to speak, but it seemed, around her, he was ever too slow.

Instead the lifted smile upon Juliet's lips attempted to soothe him. "Blame her not for speaking words I could not know," She said, lowering her hand to rest on his once again, lest the people around them paid too much attention to the Just King and his companion within that gentle dance. "For if thou must know, then, aye, I had regretted accepting thy invitation 'fore she came along," She confessed, noting the soft frown that almost immediately adorned Edmund's forehead. "But nay'r after, for I hath not lied: she told me nothing I did not need to hear; 'tis but that reality that hast shocked me so, for I could not know, as it seems I have been ever blinder than I thought, thus I pray, dear Edmund, speak... for thy friend's words hath been near enough, but I must know, how long?" She wondered. "For how long did hatred hide thy heart?"

Oh, he was sure to have a word or two with Athena Ashdown; blast her too for connecting the dots the way she probably had. After all, he was not good at this, he didn't have the way with words that the girl in his arms did, he could barely even express when he wanted something specifically emotionally precarious to his siblings, yet there he was, faced full on with the reality that was Juliet Capulet, the literal epitome of Love back in England, and unable to even think of what to say; could it be so easy as to admit to himself as much as to her that the infatuation he had had upon her had been for much longer than a year? Even before those dreams, before the accident, before even her appointment as Head of the Household... how could he admit it to her when he had only had  _days_ since he had admitted it to himself? So his lips parted, meaning to speak of his truth, meaning to but unable to, even as they danced, even as the world around them began to disappear, even as his eyes became lost in the amber ocean of her own; the proximity of her frame to his, the mere pleading he attempted onto her pretty gaze as he wished for her to see it in his eyes. Had they stopped moving, or was the world no longer existent, he didn't know, he didn't even care, he wanted to skip the words he had to speak to her, and make his dreams come true, regardless of how impossible his head seemed to think it was; it seemed enough, to confess every word with his eyes, his hold on her, and the music playing easily enough to make him forget he was as much a King as nowhere near the reality concocted within his dreams. And her lips, they beaconed to him, whatever stubborn part of his brain ignoring of the warnings of the rest, begging for the press of her lips on his again; her rejection to Peter be damned, the untouchable status she held within the stable part of Edmund's head be damned, why shouldn't he be allowed to have her? Why did her rejection to Peter mean she should be off limits to him? Why would—"Edmund, please..." She said, pulling away from the near second kiss they had shared, and smashing the bubble of isolation the King had built within his head with the melody of her voice; much more so the disappearance of their proximity when her hand left his and she stood a couple of steps away, making his heart shatter into a million little pieces when the curtsy returned, yet bringing upon the echoes of relief when the reality around him befell him again: the ball, Susan dancing somewhere with a prospect he already knew she would reject, Peter dancing with Athena and ignoring of everything but her for the politeness his nature presented, Lucy speaking with the other nobles regardless of how she continued having fun, all of them oblivious to what had almost happened, all oblivious to the way in which Juliet was walking away from him and swiftly out of the great hall.

By the Lion, what had he almost done? A couple of inches further and not only would he have become the talk of the ball, but Peter would have a word with him or two, and Juliet, what horrible burden would he have put on her? He had to say something, to apologise, to bloody leave that dance floor before his standing like an idiot made someone speak nonetheless; and where else could he go but the very same direction Juliet had disappeared into? Where, when the apology was at the edge of his lips, needing to be spoken? There she had begged for truth and the only thing he had almost given her was more affection to confuse her by and the possibility of being spoken of for weeks on end; he needed to stop her, he needed to talk to her, he needed to ignore the side of his head that told him it was a bad idea and stop her before even their friendship was in peril, he needed—"Juliet!" He called finally when he saw her, nothing but her bowed head, the soft blue silks of her dress and the diamonds on her head sparkling with the beauty of the candlelight within the hallway; they were far enough from the great hall now, he didn't need to whisper any longer. "Juliet, please, stop!"

And she did; how could she not when the voice of her King commanded it, how could she not when she  _wanted_ to? "Please," He said again, making the girl's eyes focus only on him as he approached, and his heart turned a couple of times in its cavity for the reality he wished to speak. "I'm sorry," He begged, his steps finally stopping when he reached her and his eyes begging for much more than the stupid expectation they had attempted within that dance; she had already told him once, she could not know what he did not speak, he needed to speak, he needed to—"Two years." He said, the warnings in his head getting louder and the beating of his heart turning into a melody, one speaking of fear, worry, vulnerability, truth. "If you need to know how long, it's been a little more than two years, I'm not entirely sure, I haven't exactly let myself admit it either, but, listen..."  _What, Edmund? What? Please, speak before the possibility of the girl's proximity disappears forever_ ; at least she didn't move, she barely even blinked, her hands were holding tightly of her skirts and the smallest speck of a frown had appeared upon her forehead; what else could he say?  _Please don't leave._ "I know you already rejected Peter," He began, his breath heavy with the quick steps he'd taken to reach her, but refusing to let such stop him now that he had started at all. "And I meant what I told you when I invited you here, I expect nothing else, not a yes, not... anything, I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm fifteen, for Aslan's mane, I don't even know what I—" He let out a breath. "But I feel something, and I don't know what it is, I barely even admitted it to myself last week, so I'm just—and I don't expect you to accept me, even for as long as... I don't know, as whatever can last, I'm stupid for even thinking you could, but I just hoped I could have one dance, that's all, and maybe all of it would—" But, indeed, he could go no further, for the continuance of his words was broken by a softness he had only ever felt once before, the sort that made his breath halt, his heart stop, and even the world around him disappear: it was Juliet's lips pressed against his own in a way unable to be compared to the instance before, for something pressed against his chest alike Juliet's own, something so powerful that pulled them closer together until it released them within the rush of a wave threading through their hearts and minds, brushing through their frames until it expelled from them as strongly as the breeze playing with the trees outside; almost like a spell, an incantation, some sort of magical yet invisible happenstance that Juliet could have sworn had made her hair fly; yet if anyone had seen them upon that moment, nothing would have seemed to happen other than a kiss; a gentle yet nearly pleading kiss between two people no one would have ever thought would be together.

Whatever it had been, whatever had pulled them closer upon that night, had not been there upon the previous kiss, but it turned into something which made their separation become as difficult as the heaviness within their hearts, even as their eyes met, even as her hands remained upon his shoulders, even as his held their place upon her waist, whatever it had been, it made everything he said before feel like a lie: it was not enough, he wanted her, now and always, a single dance could not be enough, not even close, he had been wrong, oh, he had been so wrong... "What was that?"

And she knew exactly what he meant; the rush within her heart and mind had been something different, not there when she had kissed Romeo, not there even when they had intimately touched, something new that had almost immediately made her feel thankful for her decision, thankful for what little part of her mind that was not as terrified as the rest of her felt for having led her forward until her lips could press to his; because yes, she was no one to stand in the way of love, and what else could it be when the boy's own words confessed to the longest infatuation she had heard of since forbidden couples on Earth, only holding onto each other for the reality that they were not allowed to be; two years... she was a mere witness no more, she couldn't be, not now that she was blind no more, not now when the only thing that had stopped her from accepting the High King's proposal was being so intently being played out right before her eyes. "I..." It seemed Edmund Pevensie made her speechless, if not more... how much had she been blind to? Even within herself? Oh, everything she wanted to say became stuck within her throat and the only thing that truly left her lips was the echo of the words the King in her arms had spoken upon his invitation to the ball: "I knew not how else to make thee stop talking." But her eyes told him exactly what he had to already know: she didn't know what it had been either, but whatever it was... she was thankful.

Just like him. "Right," He said, the smile lifting of his lips in a way no happiness ever had made them before, listening to the echo of his own words in her lips, and even going so far as to even echo her own in response: "I do speak a lot." Indeed, whatever it was... finally, he felt at home.

But of course Juliet could do no more than let out a soft and nearly quiet laugh onto his response, oh, the silly play of words that meant not what they said, but spoke of something else entirely... "Nay, my dear Edmund." She said regardless, "You really don't."

Thus, bringing no more from him than a short roll of his eyes, that continuous smile, and the single utterance of a "Shut up," before his lips pressed to hers again, leaving the two who pride and worry had kept apart, together at last.

Somewhere in the far eastern distance, the loud echoing roar of a relieved lion was heard throughout all of Narnia.

 


	18. Chapter 18

─ ♚ ─

She was trying to concentrate on the words spoken by the royals and the taste of her fruit, but she could not, for not only the events of the previous night had seared deep within her mind, but the subject of such events looked at her from across the table; it had been difficult to return to the ball, difficult to keep her hands to herself when all she had wanted, after the realisation of what she had allowed to continue befell her mind entirely after that kiss, was to hold the King's hand and welcome the very emotions she had never would have imagined would be allowed to her again. It was not love, not yet, she knew it better than anyone, for the remnants of Romeo Montague had kept her blind enough to have it be love, but it was something; something wild enough that even as she bit down on the strawberry held between soft fingers, nothing but the softness of the King's lips rested within her mind, his arms around her frame, his words flying free with the truth they carried,  _two years, it's been a little more than two years, I am not sure._ Nothing but Edmund Pevensie in a way she never would have even imagined he would be within her many thoughts; she would beg for time for her mind to catch up, to come to terms with the fact that the one person she had never been more sure hated her seemed to do anything but, yet she was unwilling to ask for it, unwilling to have anything but those moments replaying in her head even if they were the last to come, even if they worked for nothing but remind her of what she couldn't have. Oh, how her mind had changed with nothing but that one kiss; when before she would have run from the very idea of having a reminder of what she knew was true love, now she hoped for  _something_ , even as her eyes lifted from their pretence concentration on the fruit she ate to only notice deep brown eyes already staring at her, barely able to focus on his own breakfast himself. It made something within her chest light up with enough force that the warmth spread even to her cheeks and the smile her lips begged to express became hidden by the press of them instead, but she did not look away; not from the smile he definitely did not hide, nor the gaze that focused on hers and spoke of nothing but the need to speak, to touch, to kiss, breaking only the moment his name was called and the smile was forced to disappear, leaving gentle Juliet to lower her own gaze and pray her Valiant Queen had failed to notice the young connection she had shared with her brother due to the conversation breaking through their usual breakfast; lest she forget she had denied Peter, and was now, instead, thinking of the kiss from the Just King. "Help me out here, will you?" Said Peter, almost like a reminder of her own thoughts and having her unable to do more than clear her throat for a moment as she attempted to help her mind to come back into the conversation that had begun mid-breakfast.

"I don't think I can," Edmund quickly responded, as if he had not been distracted himself, lowering his fork to rest on the half empty plate in front of him and equally begging no one in the room had noted his inability to look anywhere but Juliet until he had been called to attention. "I think it's a perfectly reasonable request considering how  _you_ also don't have a wife."

Ah, right; the conversation about the eldest Queen's refusal to choose a husband upon her coming of age ball the previous night; it was easy to forget Juliet's own discovery of affection had not been the only breaking news to her mind within the celebration. "It's because of that fact that I insist," the High King said with a heavy look in the Gentle Queen's direction on Edmund's right (not that Susan noticed it, for she refused to look anywhere but her nearly full plate) before reaching for a piece of bread from the centre of the table so he could place it on his plate regardless of his continuing words. "Lord Peridan already told me, the other nobles have begun to speak: they want to secure the throne; they want a wedding."

Much to the contrast of the gaze he had shared with Juliet, Edmund's eyes almost immediately rolled in near frustration in his brother's direction. "It's not up to us, Peter, it's up to her." He said; motioning shortly to his sister before lowering his eyes to his plate so he could make sure his newly picked up fork landed on a piece of melon. "Besides, we're not in England anymore, you don't have to act like the lack of an heir is the end of the world," he looked to his brother again. "There're four of us, you're nineteen, Susan is eighteen, there's plenty of time for that later."

"But there isn't," Peter immediately replied, lowering the piece of fruit he had been about to bite. "What if something happens to us? What if we're sent back home and there is no one here to keep Narnia safe, and—"

"Back?" Lucy intervened, stopping the words from the High King at once; the ends of her loose hair dancing with the shaking of her head. "We're not going back, this is our home now; the other place is just... I don't even remember the name of our street."

"Finchley." Edmund reminded her, allowing his eyes to rest on the girl across from him for a second or two; almost thankful she was otherwise focused on her Queen in charge, lest she see a much different gaze than the near playful one they had shared, because it was true, Narnia was their home now. If it wasn't, if he thought he would return to England, then he never would have even allowed those dreams to sway him; of if they did, if they brought the sort of emotion he felt that day whenever he set eyes on Juliet Capulet, he would have forbidden himself from it, he would have stopped himself from even becoming her friend, much less allowed a kiss to seal his emotional doom. He looked away from her; lest she turn around and saw the worry in his eyes. "Lucy's right, Peter." He continued, barely a couple of seconds after his last word, forcing his eyes to fall on his brother and thus forgoing the melon he had thought of eating and setting his fork on the nearly empty plate; he was suddenly not hungry anymore. "This is our home; after six years you would think you'd grow to the idea of it."

Oh, but they didn't  _know_. "I have." Peter nearly complained, his eyes on his plate, and his mind on the horrible concoction from his mind the previous night; if they only knew the paranoia set in from the mere idea of leaving, if they only knew how much of a horrible thought it all was; because, granted, he missed his mother, he was sure everyone did, but Narnia  _was_ his home now, he was the protector of his siblings and of the realm, there was no other way about it. But that dream... oh that horrible, horrible dream... "I just think we should listen to Peridan and secure the throne; prevent everything while we can."

"Then  _you_  get married," Edmund quickly said, pushing his plate back over the hole easily created within his stomach at the mere thought of leaving Narnia now, just when something he had never thought he'd be privy to had begun; he'd be angrier, he'd be annoyed, he'd be frustrated, he'd hate the world if he were to leave  _now_. "You're so set on throwing our  _sister_ into a loveless marriage, why don't  _you_  do it, then? Get married if it's so imperative."

And perhaps he should have stayed quiet, perhaps he should not have allowed his own fears for the well being of Narnia to disrupt him so, but even his better judgement had not been enough to stop the exclamation from coming as easily thus: "I TRIED, AND I WAS REFUSED!" Yes, Peter Pevensie regretted the words the second they left his lips, because the fact had been forgiven and, up until that moment at least, almost even forgotten; it had been something he had even felt thankful for, for it had not only allowed for his eyes to surprisingly focus elsewhere within the court, but it had also made him able to return to the antics he used to be privy of with the girl upon who there suddenly seemed to be a spot-light.

A girl whose own thoughts of relief and even joy shattered for a moment long enough that the gaze she lifted in Edmund's direction was so absolutely fickle that no one would have thought anything of it but was charged with the single speck of bitter regret that made a knot big enough within her throat that even the piece of fruit she had been chewing seemed unable to pass through; no one even looked at her, but she knew, oh she knew the words hung upon their heads like moths to light but were not spoken: she, Juliet Capulet, was the reason he was not married.

She had refused him.

Not even the months that had passed since the event would leave her alone; the words were there but they were not spoken: her refusal was the reason the Lords spoke of urgent matches. If she had said yes, if she had gone ahead and become High Queen Consort of Narnia then no Lord would be speaking harshly onto the King's station, nor the Queen's good refusal to take a husband; at least... not then, not until Juliet Capulet showed unable to be a mother, until her withered womb showed its lack of fruit and the lack of an heir became apparent; what then of her friendship with the King? What then, when he would go from a lack of love to mere hatred? Yes, she refused to marry without love; she hadn't even thought anything close to those sorts of affection had been possible for her until that magical kiss where the world seemed to disappear from under her feet and the winds seemed to push her close to Edmund Pevensie, and why? Perhaps because some part of her simply knew: what else but love would be worth it, when no fruit of such love, real or not, would be nothing tangible but a lack of a future, a lack of a life? She had refused for the claim of love, oh great Protector that she was, but even what little infatuation she had with the Just King (which was as little as Juliet's heart was dead) would come to nothing... nothing but the truth that, eventually, she would have to let him go, nothing but the truth that she had been right: nothing could possibly come from it. But, goddamn it, she still wanted what little she could have for as long as she could have it; could she be blamed for that?

Thus, she forced herself to swallow the fruit still in her mouth and set her fork down onto the silver plate, making it clink like the echo of gunpowder within the silent room before the veracity of her words left her lips: "I  _am_  sorry, and I fear I shall be forevermore;" Finally; everyone  _finally_ dared look at her. "But I nay'r regret it, as I rest assured neither wouldst thee; for we have saved each other from a wary and awful mistake that wouldst have made of thee and I not' but enemies. Thus, I shall henceforth be glad, my king, and know I call thee such for the affection I hold for thee as much as the respect, nay for a thing other than that." And the High King was going to speak, the apology perfectly evident upon his parting lips and kind blue eyes, yet the girl refused to remain or allow it, for her mind had become a tempest once again, one screaming of Edmund's name yet reeling with her own duties, one begging for the comfort of his arms around her when she had not thought she'd ever feel such again, yet drowning in the guilt of a refusal and a blinded state she claimed to be glad of; thus, she stood, the food forgotten, the joy of the kiss from the previous night breaking through the culpability of her refusal regardless of having been forgiven, regardless of how the fact alone should be celebrated for the close relationship the two held. "If thou wouldst excuse me, I have household business to attend to, I fear I have remained longer than I should have this morrow, thus am much too late." Still, she brought upon a smile; one forced, not reaching of her eyes even as she nodded in their direction a goodbye. "Peter, Susan, Lucy... Edmund."

Oh, how he begged her to stay with just a single gaze, so minute, so quick, that no one noted even the pause spoken through her speech onto his name, even her short curtsy in their direction stopped them from speaking, regardless of how they all looked at her the same way: it was not her who should be apologising, and she knew it, but at that moment, her mind, her great tornado of a mind, would not allow anything else. Thus, she turned around, and left.

The silence left behind her in the private dining room was too loud, one full of guilt, one full of words unspoken and even more sung from the small speech she had left behind; one that, finally, after a few moments, was broken by the very Queen who had, up until that moment, been entirely quiet regardless of the subject of her unnamed match. "I'll talk to her." It was all she could say, for her own mind had taken to the task of over-thinking her own choices; oh, how she had thought listening to the girl's advice had been a good idea, to refuse to take a man, to refuse to bind herself to anyone at eighteen. There was guilt to spare, and a lot of it fell on Susan's shoulders; she wouldn't say anything else because the dutiful part of her, the one that wished to help her siblings above all else, begged for her to claim that she  _would_ pick a husband if it was so necessary, but the other part, the freer part that had been rediscovered upon her coronation day... it begged her to remain, stay adamant to taking a husband, refuse to force herself to marry someone she did not know. Thus... what else could she really even say? Could she betray herself and agree to something she did not want, or could she betray her siblings and leave the heaviness of the kingdom's hopes fall on their shoulders?

It was the furthers thing from an easy choice she could have come to.

Yet she was not the only one whose mind had thus far been in continuous overdrive; who else but the very subject of Juliet's contradictions? "No; stay." Edmund said, almost at the same time Peter said the same thing and began to rise from his chair; the youngest king had moved a hand to rest on Susan's arm, hoping to stop her frame from rising further than it already had, and gaining no more than a wondrous look from all three of them as he placed the used napkin atop his almost empty plate and easily stood instead, his head shaking almost immediately in his brother's direction.

"No offence, Pete, but you're probably the last person she wants to talk to right now." And before anyone else could say anything else, Edmund left the room, following behind Juliet Capulet for the second time in what he would have called, if he were to be asked in future, two of the most important days to set his future in stone.  


	19. Chapter 19

─ ♚ ─

Her steps echoed down the hall as the bottoms of her small heels clicked; how could they not when the halls were so empty within one of the few warm days of winter to befall the realm? They echoed and worked like a metronome to Juliet's heart, making her wish she could run faster and disappear either into her room or the gardens, or, hell, the Just King's library if she were so sure he wouldn't slip around at some point during the day; because she wanted to think, she needed to make sense of her mind for the reminders Peter Pevensie's words had brought upon her: she could  _not_ be a player within their tale, not when she was so barren and cursed for the fact. After all, it had been within one of her last visits to Earth, buried within the body of someone living, with the hopes of doing her duty, that she learnt what she had not known when she had been a human girl: if she did not bleed, the possibilities of carrying a child in her womb were none; granted, it wasn't as if she wished for such a thing at that point, not with the recently discovered infatuation shared with Edmund Pevensie, but the High King had reminded her of it in the first place, making that very infatuation into something she knew she had to eventually let go of for the reality that, even if he did come to love her, even if he did eventually do as his brother had and asked her to marry him, she would have to say no, because he was a King, a man expectant of an heir, and if Juliet could not carry a child...

Was that not one of the reasons she had refused Peter?

She had not regretted a second passed with the King the previous night, not during the rest of the ball, not during her sleeping night, not even as she had woken up with that smile unable to disappear up to the moment when the breakfast had begun; and even then, her joy had remained, it had been unable to disappear for the truth of something so beautiful as it was the boy's two year infatuation he had confessed to, and what it all could become, what she was not supposed to have. Yet, for the first time that day, as she walked down the hall from that breakfast and down the stairs to the longer hall that would lead to the stairwells dividing of the different wings, she did, she regretted it, and she hated herself for it; for the thought of romance shared by her had been one that had allowed her a peaceful night's sleep and had made her heart feel as alive that morning as it had felt the second it had fist beat upon the creation of Narnia; to think of having something so beautiful as the love Athena Ashdown had claimed her best friend could come to have with Juliet... yes, the Protector had thought herself unable or not allowed to such a thing (the High Protectors had told her she'd given it up, too), but there Edmund had been, looking at her as if she were made of something he adored, holding her hands as if they were delicate little things he liked holding, speaking to her the way he never had before, confessing to an infatuation longer than any she had before seen regardless of the many princesses or nobles passing in and out of Cair Paravel at all times, and kissing her as if he were to die the very next day, as if he were to never kiss again. Indeed, who was she to step in the way of such affections when she, herself, had felt the world disappearing from under her feet the moment his lips met hers? She hadn't thought of Edmund that way before, but after that kiss, she could not see him anyway else: she wanted to kiss him, to hold his hands, to beg him to never leave, but it was ridiculous and painful, because, as Peter Pevensie had come to make her remember, she  _would_ eventually have to let go, hurting the boy with the chocolate brown eyes and begging him to forget her so he could have children of his own whenever the moment came about. Yes, she had thought she wanted whatever time she could have with Edmund Pevensie, the kiss alone had made her wish for that, but when she had thought of it she had forgotten what  _he_  would feel himself, what getting so attached to someone only to lose them after could come to mean for him, and it was for it that she regretted the kiss for that short moment, because she had had the opportunity to stop him, to tell him, no,  _beg_  him to not do such a thing, keep his thoughts away from her, treat her as no more than the friend she had always wished herself to be, and forget about whatever two-year-long infatuation he had held; and instead she had kissed him,  _she_ had initiated that moment, she had been the one to doom him into a few months of misery (or years if his ways of love were like hers at all) for the reality that she would have to let him go.

Oh, what had she done? Why had she allowed herself to be so absolutely unfair when she could have freed him the second it had all begun? What sort of Protector of Love was she when she did not think of protecting those  _she_ loved herself? Yet something had already happened within her own heart; be it hope or infatuation of her own, she refused to let herself think about it, because the mere thought of letting him go, of having his words to her be nothing but cordiality and politeness evermore, it made her own chest hurt, it made her need him around, wanting to kiss him all over again, wanting to hold him, to be held by him to— "Juliet!" God, to  _run away_ from him the second she heard his voice.

How unfair it all was.

She had heard his steps echoing down the castle's halls, but she had assumed him to be someone else, someone who would pass her and ignore her for no more than a single curtsy to the name of her title, but not him, God, not him. "Juliet, wait, please!" No, she didn't want to wait, she wanted to run away from him and hide so the memory of their kiss became the last memory of him for a few days before she had to disappoint him and hurt herself alike, before she had to free him, lest he get any more attached, she wanted to run, to not stop. God,  _what had she done?!_ "Juliet!" The steps hurried down the stairs with a speed that nearly worried her he would fall, and before she knew it any thought of running disappeared from her mind; it was too late, for his hand had reached to stop her steps by holding of her own, and her heart, oh that magical organ she could grow to hate for not making things easier on her, nearly stopped by the mere contact of the very hand she had been hoping to feel on hers again. "Please." He said again, a mirror of the night prior and the ease with which the brand new emotions tainted it; never mind the wish of that kiss remaining as a last memory for a few days: it seemed she had to face the sorrow now. So she turned, finally facing the boy who had brought such joy into her heart for a few hours, yet refusing to look into his eyes for a second or two, focusing, instead, on their hands. "He was wrong to bring that up," Edmund began, refusing to let go of her hand for the urgency that had driven him from the moment he had woken up with hopes of talking to her. "He's just frustrated, and pressured by the nobility, he didn't think or—"

"Nay, he did." Juliet easily interrupted, pulling her hand slowly from his and forcing her eyes to lift to look at him directly, noting the short pain already placed within the chocolate of his eyes by the time her hand fell to her side. "But I beg thee, worry not, for I am not angry with him, I mind it not. 'Tis not such a thing that I think of, for he has forgiven me, and even thanked me, thus my mind rests not on him but..." She paused, amber ayes dancing upon his as if hidden within the brown shades of his irises would be the very reasons she needed to forbid herself from breaking her own heart as much as his,  _I beg, look not like that, not to me, not I who wouldst but bring sorrow onto thee._ She wanted to say more, to force her lips to part for the good of his heart, lest her selfishness cost any more than the friendship the previous night's kiss surely already had, but his eyes held her there, they made her forget her words, the reason her own beating organ hurt so strongly as it was, making thus her need to keep him close the only to remain, to be even thankful for the ease with which her frame leaned closer to his, expectant, hoping, wishing, reaching for him the way she had the previous night...

Until her eyes closed, the breath from his lips crashing onto hers, thus reminding her of what she had to let go; her hands balled on the fabric of his clothes for the short moments it took for her face to lower, leaving him unable to kiss her the way he had wished he could and simply smell the jasmine in her hair. "We can't." She whispered softly enough to hear, loosening her grip on his and opening her eyes at last, focused on the details on his clothes for a second or two before she repeated her previous words with a single change: "I can't."

The thing was, before the kiss the previous night, Edmund Pevensie had thought himself able to let her go, to forgo his dreams (which had surprisingly stopped the night before, when he had wished for them for once) and make of Lucy's lady nothing but a good friend, if such was the only allowance to him; but the kiss had changed it all: suddenly he could not imagine him letting her go, he could not imagine allowing himself to act as no more than her friend, not when he wanted to kiss her and hold her and... Aslan forbid, make his every dream come true if he could. He would not be able to talk to her unless necessary, he would not be able to forgive himself for giving up, thus he couldn't; where before the young King would have let her go, refused to fight, now his disposition forbid it so with a single query from abandoned lips: "Why?" He wondered within a note to match hers, thus making of their world a private plain no one could break them from, remembering the smile or the near playful gaze she had gifted him at breakfast before Peter had screwed everything up, the gentle touch of her hand as they danced, or the soft kiss they had shared before they had parted ways the night before. "What changed?" He nearly begged, because it was obvious something had, merely with a word from Peter, everything he had been so hopeful for from the moment he woke up... had disappeared. "What did Peter say that made everything that happened last night seem impossible? Was it him?"

She was thankful for the way his arms lowered away from her, allowing her the freedom to leave, but very evidently wishing she'd stay, just like she did; for she didn't want to let him go, she wanted to stay wrapped in his arms, kiss him, allow for it all to happen regardless of the pain that would follow, but...  _selfish; oh, selfish monster art thou, Juliet Capulet._ "Aye, it be Peter who made it impossible, tough not for what was said, but what he made me remember." She confessed, her eyes lifting to look at his at once, yet forcing her hands to, after a soft press of her palm against his heart, lower and let go of him completely. "Thou art a King, Edmund." She began, as always forcing the truth from her lips with the ease the young man in front of her always wished he possessed. "Nay'r a High King, I know, but a King nonetheless, thus things are expected of thee. Things like heirs, a wedding, all of those things thou wish't not this day, as thou hath confessed but eventually will, and I..." Her eyes finally fell from his gaze, from the frown that had crossed along his features, from the balled fists that so evidently were thus alike her hold on her skirts: to stop his hands from reaching for her the way he so horribly wanted to. "I refused thy brother nay'r only for his lack of love, but for the truth that I am barren, thus no child can come of a union with me, and that, for a King is—"

"Unimportant." Edmund finished, taking only one step in her direction and even going as far as to reach for her hands, only her hands, if such was to be the last thing he could ever have from her. "I don't care about those things; I just don't, not when—"

"But thou will." Juliet replied with the interruption he attempted, for once refusing to move her hands from his for the very truth she attempted. "Perhaps not in a year, or two, or five, but eventually the wish will either come or be expected of thee, and if I were here, if I allowed the two years thou hast thought of me to become three or four, what young affection thou holdst for me could become love and it wouldst hurt thee, Edmund, for eventually thou wouldst have to let me go, as would I, to find what thou wish't, what thou deserveth as a man and wouldst be expected of as a King, and it would bring the sort of sorrow onto thee I allow myself not to be the reason of, for I do care for you, nay'r I allow myself to speak further than that," After all,  _care_ was no longer a strong enough word, it seemed. "Thus, I beg, let me go  _now_ before further pain calls our name."

But Edmund could not, would not; not unless she specifically told him she didn't want such a thing, not after the previous night, which had changed everything, not after such a moment like the one they had shared, which had made letting her go seem so impossible, so unthinkable, not anymore. And it was for it that his head shook even for a moment, as he pulled her closer to him as gently as he could and forced the question to leave his lips within the same note he had allowed before: "If I weren't King," He began, his eyes on hers, the space between them nothing but the few inches that separated them, thus allowed their words to be as low as they had remained. "If I had no titles, and I was nothing but a young country boy looking into your eyes... would you want this?" He wondered, his eyes on hers, his hands nearly pleading for the answer he wished, the one he would reply if she were to ask him the same, the answer he hoped for.

It was her honestly, her directedness, her boldness, that one day would become her end; that much she had already known, but never more than that moment, never more than the moment she said "I already want it." And could say no more over the truth that had escaped alongside a single solitary tear down her cheek, bringing relief into Edmund's features as fast as he had held her hands; indeed, they could say no more, for the very relief that befell the young King was enough to drive him forward so he could do as he had wished for hours and press his lips to hers one more time. Where before there had been nothing but joy and adoration, now the kiss was full of his pleading onto her, her own need to let him go, the distress from them both who knew exactly what could await them and how much pain could come from such a thing; it was desperate, sad, even with the soft tears fallen from Juliet's eyes, even as she moved to hold him, as he moved to hold her even closer, as they both balled their hands in the other's clothes as if they were both terrified the other would disappear the second they let go, it was full of need, full of hope, full of understanding but desperation and wonder upon whether both of them would be able to take on what was already doomed if he allowed such a thing as their eventual separation to come true regardless of the pain his heart came to feel when the thought of such a thing passed it.

Oh, it was true; Juliet Capulet wanted what she should not be allowed to have at all, if she did not, then it would be easier to let go, but she cried because she didn't want to break such hope, because the affection that had been unearthed by the kiss the previous night had been so much she could barely understand it as anything but the sort of infatuation the other already claimed to feel for her; because for all she knew, the same sort of infatuation could have been growing so deep within her that her blindness onto any of it would have made her as oblivious as it was clear she had been. How could she be expected to know of it when Edmund himself had not even allowed himself to acknowledge his own affections for longer than the previous week? It had all happened so knowingly fast, but it appeared to have been hidden somewhere within them both, because if not... why else would they both want to be together so badly? Young infatuations were easy to break, but the sort he claimed, the two-year-long affection he had not acknowledged... that was not so easy to let go of; thus, how else could her own be explained but by being alike his own: grown through a long time, hidden, unacknowledged and ignored? His fingers threaded through her hair, her own gripped onto his clothes, even by the time he pulled away, rested his forehead against hers, and pressed his lips together to seal the taste of hers forever: the strawberry she had been eating before. "I know what I'm signing up for." He said without moving even an inch, thus making the whisper of his utterance crash against her parted lips, only daring to pull away from the soft position so his eyes could look into hers, and the sobriety of his thoughts could be well conveyed. "You have told me all I need to know for the good of a future I am not even thinking of," He began, daring not, now that he had learnt how quick Juliet was to reply, to take much longer to continue to speak; and he was right for it, too, for her lips had begun to part when he continued on. "That is fair, and I agree, I cannot speak for my future self, but I can say this:" he stated, moving his hand so it could rest upon the softness of her cheek. "I am already in too deep, and whether I let you go now or years from now, I will hurt the same, so trust me, Juliet, please. I know what I'm signing up for."

It was much more than the girl had ever heard the Just King speak when it came to his emotions; in fact, he never had, not to her, not before the night before when he had confessed to his infatuation with her; and now to hear such words, to have the confirmation of his affections displayed for her to hear so clearly... he wasn't wrong, that much she could be sure of, she had already told him all of what he should probably know before taking a decision as big as to whether to go on with an infatuation of such sorts, and still, if his kiss could say anything about it, he still wanted it, wanted  _her_. Would it, then, be so absolutely wrong to allow him the very pain he claimed to know could come in future? Who was she to step in the way of the sort of affections she so equally wanted, when the subject she feared she'd hurt so strongly admitted to wish it alike? She knew it could end in pain, and now so did he, but he didn't seem to care; he had said it himself: it was too late. The moment for such claimed regrets had already passed, and it had been the previous night: they were both in too deep to not hurt the other even if they parted ways that very day, because forget the promise of love, forget the affection they had shared, the dances that had made their eyes speak much more than their lips had, the two had been allowed the one thing ripping away from a heart hurt more than love.

They had let themselves hope.

So what else could Juliet, oh epitome of love, do than gulp down the knot of guilt within her throat and nod? She simply nodded, felling the warmth of her tears tainting the paleness of her cheeks, and taking the breath of bravery her own brain claimed it to be before she simply said, "Okay." And tightly held onto the other as if his leaving would make her change her mind; but no, she would not, it was too late.  _It was too late_. "Okay."

And there it was again, the light of hope in Edmund's eyes as much as Juliet's, even as his eyes searched hers for any sign of regret and saw none, even as the pad of his thumb cleared away the tears brought through the guilt of the other's heart. "Really?" He wondered, because the return of his own expectancy hurt deeper than that: he never thought he'd have something such as what he had felt, acknowledged, and now embraced ever since the previous night. "You mean it?" He never should have been allowed it, he never thought he would be, not him, not the traitor of Narnia, not ever. "This is real?"

Only this time, the girl did not even hesitate in bobbing her head in the same nod, making the ends of her hair dance and the breath of her culpability go free from equally smiling parted lips. "Aye, I mean it, it is real if thou wish it, I am yours if thou wouldst have me." She told him, her own hand lifting to softly touch the softness of his lips, her eyes focusing there and his eyes, once and again; cursed be her weakness. "For I knew not of mine own affection onto thee, my dearest Edmund, but it is there, and be my heart stabbed endless times, it would not equate the pain of letting thee go; thou art right, it is too late."  _Oh, what have we done?_  She agreed for it."It  _is_  too late." An agreement unspoken from the King for the matching nod full of the relief from a released breath before he leaned in to press his lips to hers once again, now thankful, hopeful, scared for the truth that he did not deserve such a thing, but grateful because it was there in the first place; thus becoming evident not only on his kiss, but the means with which his arms held her, holding onto her as if he were scared of losing her, more so by the time their kiss broke and the contact instead became an embrace where the two held the other with the desperation of their affections: so unexpected, so neglected, but so deeply inlaid within their hearts that even their words could not convey it. Her face rested on his shoulder, and his own buried deep within her hair, with his fingers, even as they pressed her against him almost at the middle of her back, tangled within her hair and making the desperation even clearer: he was hers as much as she claimed to now be his; they knew the danger, they knew the pain that would come, they knew the sorrow awaiting them, but still, the thought of having no time together was more painful than the thought of having a limited amount of memories to share; may Aslan help them, it  _was_  too late.

They could have stayed like that for ages, but the echo of a closing door somewhere along the hallway they stood on brought the two back to the reality of the world they lived in; a world that suddenly had become brighter for the accepted affection and the promise of a future—however short or long—together; and thus made them part from their embrace with curious sober expressions that allowed their eyes to look both behind them and in front of them to anyone who might come to see them together at all. Thankfully, no one was there, and the relief in both their expressions was so evident even a smile lifted both their features as their contact disappeared, and the space between them returned to the normality of any friendly talk; as always, Juliet was the quickest to speak at all. "I think thou wouldst agree we be discreet," She said, looking into his eyes yet keeping her hands balled upon her skirts once again; though this time it was not for nerves, nor anger, but for the truth that she wished to hold him again, kiss him, mindless of the fact that they had but embraced each other seconds prior.  _Oh, dearest Edmund, what have we done?_ "Lest people speak, and that future thou care'th not for at this moment be put in peril." Only, this time she smiled. The thought of that future had become a silent promise once again.

He smiled alike, nodding once again, yet managing his lips to mark his agreement in turn. "Not for those reasons, but I agree." He said, forcing his hands to slip within the pockets of his trousers as he would do with any other friend, regardless of how much he wished to hold her alike, feel the softness of her hands in his, her lips, the softness of her hair... he had to gulp back the wish for such a thing. "I am a private person, as you know." He continued, rocking once in his heels yet refusing to look away from her. "I would rather not have people speaking about things that don't concern them. This is just about you and me, no one else," he nodded. "No one but you and I should be speaking about it."

Oh, the smile that lifted his lips, playful, kind, wondrous, it made it harder for Juliet to remain where she was, but a single bobbed agreement made her eyes fall to the floor for a second or two as her lips pressed together to suppress her own smile. "Agreed." She said within a single tone, allowing a second, two, to pass before her eyes lifted to his once again, and the mirror to his own smile became unable to be held back at all: he was watching her still, counting his blessings and simply taking her in, and the gaze they shared spoke more of their promised secret than the words they had spoken: the playfulness of it, the softness of it, only truly broken by the time the banging of the tower's bell broke the two from the privacy of their ever made little world. "I truly am late now," Juliet mused, her eyes still on his, but her mind now aware of where they stood, who she was, what was expected of her. "I must leave..." But she wouldn't move, not until the midday bell rang again and a gentle breathed laugh escaped her lips at last.

"So should I." Edmund responded alike, soft upon his speech to her even by the couple of feet that separated them. "You know... King stuff to do."

What else could she do but allow the soft amusement of the reminder leave in the scoff of the same amused breath that easily allowed her the freedom of matching the sarcasm placed upon his lips. "Head of Household stuff to do." She even pointed at herself before finally clearing her throat and moving upon the low curtsy she might once have given him for the respect he demanded instead of the playfulness she then intended, even going so far as to refuse her eyes to leave his and the smile to remain across her lips. "Your Majesty."

The single action of her curtsy and words made Edmund weak almost immediately over the reminder of the familiar motion so many times seen within his dreams; it made him nearly breathless, even by the time she rose from her place and, with that same smile, turned around to leave. He didn't deserve it, he knew that much, he had never thought he could have such a thing, not with any girl in the realm, but much less with Juliet Capulet, she who he thought he had hated for so long, she who had annoyed him for so long, she who had refused his brother but had accepted him... she was now plenty of steps away, but the realisation of what he had agreed to, the realisation of the wonderful thing he now had in his life... it overwhelmed him enough for his stillness to break and his lips to simply call again a single "Juliet!" as he ran in her direction, thankful for the quick means with which she stopped and turned, and easily moved to press his lips against hers once again; their heart beats matched within their joy, her smile broken by the contact of his kiss but welcome, even as one single hand rested softly upon the place her jaw became her neck, the pad of his thumb gracing the softness of her cheek for the few seconds the contact lasted even as she leaned against him, welcoming his lips, returning the kiss with as much urgency as with which he begun it; at least until he pulled away again, looked into her eyes, nodded once, and smiled. "Now you can go."

And thus, with a lift of her lips to match his she left him behind for the good of her daily duties as much as the ones that awaited him as he finally let her go and turned around with a brand new joy lighting his world; the hope they had both had upon waking restored in its entirety, and even stronger for the truth that she hid nothing from him at all: he knew what he signed up for, as he had said, and now, because of their conversation, so did she.

Edmund Pevensie and Juliet Capulet were truly together at last.


	20. Chapter 20

─ ♚ ─

And so time had passed, with the secrecy of the two hidden lovers unknown to all in the castle regardless of how any and all signs could have been there to anyone who could have looked for them: Edmund spending so much time in the gardens, or Juliet disappearing for a few amounts of time and being nowhere to be found, the two spending much more time together, and placing the mark of friendship over it all, the few smiles shared between them, the few hidden contacts stolen in front of people if they could... oh, yes, the signs were there, but their discretion was perfected; months had passed, Christmas come, spring begun, and no one knew of the two hidden lovers residing in the castle. Not the many times they spend together, either merely talking or kissing, holding each other, sleeping soundly by each other's side for a few moments, long enough to hear one of their names called from far away; usually Edmund's.

Indeed, it all seemed much so wonderful that many times the two wondered if something was about to go wrong; the King more than the Lady, of course, for his continuous echoes of long mended treachery could not leave his mind, and he knew they probably never would: always scared of who he had been, always terrified of who he could become, thus ever expecting of the best unexpected joy within his life to disappear for one reason or another and the reality that was his continuous culpability; he didn't deserve it. Things, of course, that Juliet denied, once and again, kissing his lips to quiet him and arguing until the boy stopped attempting to get her to agree, and, for the joy the other's presence brought him, he dropped it, wrapped her in his arms and rolled upon the grass to shut her up with a kiss in turn, making the situation much lighter than the reality he drowned in every night the nightmares returned, or the cold of the winter storm made him shiver, or frown, or be paranoid.

Still, the time had passed and yet Juliet did not know the full extent of his sorrow; she didn't know of the horrors that accompanied him every day of winter, for, during the worst days, Edmund hid within his room and refused to leave, or frowned for the entirety of a day, or barely kissed her with much more than the affection he held for her tainted by the memories of the trauma he could not get rid of no matter of how much he tried: he hadn't spoken about it, not really. Not with so much detail since that first winter that had terrified him enough to give him two continuous sleepless nights, so still, romance inlaid or not, the hopes of Juliet's duty had not been as well attempted as she would have liked; in fact, they had been nearly forgotten for the boy's kisses, and kind warm arms. Arms which held her so wonderfully that mid April afternoon, with her back partly leaning so gently against one of the posts of an unfamiliar bed even as she pulled away from the kiss he had so immediately planted on her lips once she had regained her balance after so surprisingly having been pulled into the room like a kidnapped princess. "I ought to scold you, your majesty." The girl playfully stated, her hands untangling from the back of his hair so they could slowly lower to rest upon his arms, which had not let her go regardless of the ended kiss; even the title echoed with the playfulness of her voice and smile, which refused to disappear even by the time a hand shoved him shortly for the pretence annoyance she attempted. "Thou art not' but a spoiled, stubborn child; King or not."

A sentence, of course, which Edmund found amusing enough to scoff a breath and equally as fast concoct the reply he intended: "And you're not?" He wondered, moving to kiss her again.

To his surprise, though, the girl moved away, that playful smile still across her lips alongside a curious little frown adorning the middle of her forehead as she leaned back and slightly to the side, so his lips could meet only her blushing cheek. "Me?" She wondered, moving so he could look at her at last, so he could note the confusion upon her features as much as the amusement his assumption intended. "Why, 'twas not I who pulled thee into a room so suddenly that it made thee drop thy notes, was I?" She said, eyes curious, lips lifted within their diversion and her hands moving to hold his, if anything, so she could make him let go of her and she could move away from against the post, following along with her attempts at annoyance. But that smile... oh that gentle smile she so noted to be saved only for her... She looked away and gave her back to him. "I should be making thy royal hands clean the mess out on the hall, for thou hast made me drop the vial of ink I held and now— nay, let go." She commanded, attempting not to laugh and wiggling in Edmund's arms the moment they caught up to her again from behind, as if she didn't actually want to be in them (thus not trying too hard, really). "Let go, I say, I am angry with you."

The boy even had the audacity to snort in near challenge as his lips pressed against the side of her neck, holding her with a gentleness he had even been surprised to find he had for the past few months and noting her almost immediate surrender regardless of her previously made statements of her anger. For them, he breathed a short laugh against her skin. "Yeah, I can tell;  _very_ angry." And as he attempted to kiss her neck once again, everything else, like the coming war they had been preparing for against the last supporters of the White Witch or the disturbance that he had to still deal with that at all, entirely left his mind for the ever growing affection for the girl he so softly held.

A girl, though, who was so strong of mind that all it took was his sarcastic remark for a short gasp of unamusement to leave her lips before she forced herself away from his lips and his gentle hands. "I am, and thou, oh mighty King, are a spoiled, bratty, infuriating man, nay, child!" She wasn't even surprised by the moment the young King began to laugh regardless of the way she looked at him with narrowed eyes, for the smile across her lips spoke of something else, it spoke of the joy of spending time with him, the joy of hearing his laugh, seeing his smile, noting the ease with which he moved; her heart joyful for the mere vision of something she never thought she'd either have or be privy to as it was the Just King's affections. But, oh, she should be angry for the mess outside that closed door! "Cease thy laughter at once!" She complained, but nothing in the world could take the smile across her lips away, even if a hand moved to shove the laughing king away enough that his exaggerating demeanour moved as if her shove had been hard enough to have him fall on the perfectly made bed she had been leaning against before; he wouldn't stop laughing. "Edmund!" She called, even going so far as to crossing her arms in short annoyance and rolling her eyes regardless of the lift of her lips that accompanied her features. "You're so annoying!"

At least that statement became enough for the king's laughter to stop as his frame lifted by the support of his elbows so he could look at her. "It takes one to know one, my Lady." He said without even a pause, even looking at the other with the challenge before presented in his voice and a testing grin.

But it seemed the King had met his match; for it did not take longer than a couple of seconds before the young Protector bobbed a single nod in his direction and exaggerated a single curtsy as she spoke. "Indeed, then if thou finds't me so annoying, I shall take my leave." And with that, she rose, not bothering to address him by his title, and moving with feigned headstrong movements to open the door steps away from her.

Just as she had thought, though, the quick sounds of ruffling sheets and creaking wood echoed behind her before a few steps reached her ears and a pair of arms caught her and so suddenly lifted her from the ground, turning her from looking at the door to looking at the bed with a single yelp of surprise escaping her lips and an echo of laughter to follow after. "I happen to enjoy your annoyance." The King said, regardless of Juliet's laugh-filled pleads to be put down and finally doing as she asked: allowing her feet to touch the ground once again and loosening his arms enough for her to turn to look at him at once but not letting her go. "And I don't remember telling you that you could leave."

Her hands finally rested on his chest once again, the smile as challenging as his had been moments before, and her eyes, oh gentle pools of amber that finally matched the brightness of her joy, narrowed as they looked directly into his equally testing ones within his refusal to let her go. "'Tis a great thing, then, that I do not require your permission, is it not?" She tempted, her chin lifting with short defiance to match her place within that world for once; though, of course, that only ever happened when she was playful alike that moment. "After all, there is an ink spot outside that door that needs cleaning, and I could beg thy majesty to clean it, but thy spoiled nature would make such a thing impossible, wouldn't it?"

The rolling of the boy's eyes put a quick end to such an argument for the words that followed: "Fine, I'll clean the damn thing, now stop the talk of the ink spot already, and kiss me." And before she actually could reply, instead of letting her slightly parted lips turn into words, the young King took it upon himself to press his lips to hers.  _I didn't know how else to get you to stop talking_ ; it had become more than the excuse used for their very first kiss, for it echoed as a common reason for which their lips pressed together within their affection, and they knew it. No one, if anyone had known of their little romantic escapades, would have thought they would want it otherwise: they truly had found each other's match.

Something evident enough even for the gentle intention of her hand pushing against his chest for a moment with enough strength that truly made him pull away from the kiss, necessary, from her point of view, only for the truth that she thereafter attempted to expel: "Rotten, that be what thou art, my King." The words were no louder than a whisper, but the dalliant meaning remained even by the time her lips pressed to his again, and the distance between the two, if there had been any to begin with, disappeared entirely until the steps the two had begun taking made the girl's legs crash with the edge of the bed and the two fell upon it in a quick and gentle comfort that made of her hair a spread wave of onyx to contrast with the paleness of the once perfectly made sheets of a room that did not belong to either of them.

It was during moments like those that it was so easy for the two to forget the duties their names and titles held, or for Juliet, as it had come for the months they had spent together, that the truth that had led her to confront the youngest King in the first place (bringing along the first kindness the monarch had presented her) disappeared almost entirely: Aslan's words, the Queens' translation, her second duty as protector and so called Flame of Narnia's hope. It had been, in fact, the very thing she had been thinking as she had walked down the halls of the castle before Edmund had so unceremoniously pulled her into the room they rested in within that moment—there she had been, walking with her eyes focused on the parchment resting atop the book that leaned supported by her forearm in ways that should be impossible for her to use to write whilst walking, with even a small vial of ink resting between her middle and ring finger as she went, yet easily scribbling the many observations for her own purposes within one of the duties she held as Head of Household, when suddenly a hand had caught her writing arm, and the surprise of it all had made her hands let go of the things she'd been holding with swiftness enough to land in a single thud of the thick book and the shattering of the little vial of ink as it splashed all over the floor she had walked on (perhaps even the hem of her dress, thus her continuous means of attempting to be angry with the King), and making her mind entirely forget the very duties she had been thinking of regardless of the means with which her hands wrote of something else entirely. And yet now there she rested, minutes later, with the lips of her King pressed against her own in a tempted kiss she wished not to break and every single duty she had worried of spoken by Aslan had gone forgotten; it was but the echoes of young infatuation that made it so: when they were alone nothing mattered but him, alike in his mind, nothing mattered but her, until the two parted ways and everything they had forgotten came tumbling back with the echo of a tempest into their minds (war and trauma into Edmund's, duty and promise into Juliet's), and everything would start all over again.

Just like that moment, as they remained lost in each other with their lips pressed in their kiss, their hands holding of each other and their world entirely their own, when the echo of a candid familiar voice reached the little corner where they rested. "JULIET?!" He seemed to either not have heard it, or decided to ignore it, but the girl's eyes almost immediately opened and the bubble of their solitude shattered as quickly as it was always formed. "LADY JULIET?" Came the call again, making her move shortly to attempt hearing more and managing nothing other than directing Edmund's kisses to her cheek, her neck, places he seemed to like a lot. "Edmund, stop." She told him when the next call echoed closer.

"Just ignore it." He attempted before pressing another kiss to the spot just under her jaw; but this time, any echo of the jesting demeanour was gone from her words and her actions; enough that, when the girl spoke his name again, this time Edmund did stop his kisses with the realisation of their broken isolation. "Who is it?"

Thankful for the other's understanding and the continuous respect he seemed to have for her whenever she commanded him in any way, Juliet almost immediately got up from the bed; the echoing of her called name getting closer even then, regardless of her reply: "Nay'r does it matter who it is, thou hast made sure of that." She said, quickly moving to fix her hair without even a reflection to focus on, whilst she moved toward the door. "For thou hast made me drop the ink by thy surprise, my dearest, and now—" She interrupted herself for noting the return of the King's smile alongside the rolling of his eyes. "Aye, that blasted ink, Edmund; and now, with mine documents dropped like water, the ink tainting the floor like a sea, all displayed right outside this door, anyone who sees the mess will but have the curiosity of coming in, for I know that I would. Thus, I must leave before anyone does come in and—" She need not say any more.

At least, that much, even with the smile refusing to disappear from his lips, it was evident the King understood. "JULIET!!" The voice sounded close enough for both of them to finally put a face to the calling, and almost as soon as the realisation came, did Edmund encourage the girl to stop the fussing with her hair and depart at once. "You look fine; now go, before Athena has something else to tease me about." It was the Lady's turn to roll her eyes before finally dropping her hands and turning around to finally truly head for the door; she could hear Athena was close: the steps had begun echoing down the hall. The Protector's hand partly opened the door and she tried to squeeze through without opening it too much, just in case. "Go to our library when you have time!" Edmund called just before her frame entirely disappeared, enough for her to turn back, nod once, blow a kiss in his direction with the gesture of one hand, and finally slip out of the room at once with a swift movement to close the door right behind her.

And just in time, too. "There you are." Athena Ashdown's voice came much too near to Juliet's taste; it seemed they had been  _much_ too close to being found out, for the click of the closing door had barely echoed less than a second before the marchioness' words had. "I've been looking for you everywhere I— Oh, wow. What happened here?"

Just as Juliet had thought, the mess left behind her when Edmund had pulled her away was much worse than she had thought: the notes she had attempted to make were as splattered by the spilled ink as the floor was; in fact, it seemed as if not even the book had been saved; and it had all happened so close to the door, that even the walls had gotten a couple of splashes of black. She'd been right: if anyone had seen that mess and not anyone near to claim it, they would have immediately thought to go into the room; the deep shade upon her cheeks became enough to claim her guilty. "I happened." Juliet admitted to her now close friend, her head shaking and her eyes using the very mess to not look Athena in the eye even by the time she knelt to pick everything up. "I attempted writing whilst I walked, and this be the result: a tripping chaos of a girl who hast made nothing but a horrible mess upon the floor."

It seemed to be believable enough, for the green eyed brunette quickly knelt to help the other on the mending of the mess with a slightly amused smile to match the diversion of her words. "You would try that." She said, her head shaking whilst her hands so easily picked up the book and parchment whilst Juliet picked up the shards of glass the tiny vial had left behind. "You work too hard, you know that, right?" She wondered within the echo of the ease with which her words left towards that who had become one of her closest friends in the castle; for it had been entirely easy for the two to hold a heavy friendship after their first conversation: the two realised they were alike and different enough to almost entirely  _need_  the other in their lives; not to mention that they were, as well, the only ones in the entirety of the castle (outside of the Pevensies, and Athena's adoptive brother, Peridan) who seemed okay with treating the other as no one with any titles alike they both seemed to like: when they spoke or spent time together, they were simply Athena and Juliet, no Lady, no Marchioness, simply the very girls they felt themselves to be.

Who could ask for a friendship better than that?

"Nay, I work enough." Juliet easily replied whilst rising from the ground once all the retrievable pieces of glass had been collected; the blush remained upon her cheeks, yet it had diminished enough that she could feel confident enough to look in her friend's direction at once. "I used to be bored before, knowest thee not? 'Tis how I landed my title, dear Athena; because I confessed my boredom to the Kings and Queens, and they well thought giving me something to do could help."

It was no surprise the other's brows rose to match the continuous smile upon her lips. "You  _asked_  for a job?" She wondered, looking at the girl and offering her the parchment, quil and book when she extended her hands and noting the clearly displayed thanks by the lift of her lips. "How did I not know that?"

Finally, Juliet felt she could relax, for she walked by the side of her friend, and left the ink spot and her hidden romance behind: no more questions about the mess had been lifted. "Because I nay'r asked for it, not by many words." She responded within her newfound relief, holding the messed up papers far away from her dress, lest any more ink ruin the beauty of the silk she wore. "Besides, I  _did_  have a job to mine name: Lucy's lady and protector, which I remain. But sitting around for endless hours whilst she studied, or later began the writing of alliances, treaties, or letters when needed... well, it did eventually get tedious." She easily confessed. "But nay'r did I mind, for I love my Queen. Yet one day, within a breakfast with their majesties, something wouldst bring that subject along, and... well, next thing I knew, the position of Head of Household hath been offered, and I couldst nay'th but say aye." She was indeed surprised to realise she hadn't told  _that_ specific story to the girl walking beside her as the other nodded in understanding and even agreement; after all, she had told her so many other tales, and the other had shared her adventures alike—like the way she had been found, newly arrived from the same world the Kings and Queens came from, in the middle of a forest after the horrors of what she thought she remembered to be a car-crash; or the way Lord Peridan had saved her and adopted her as a younger sister; or the wild happenstance that had landed her with the very titles she now held—so to find she had not shared the same was something young Juliet had not expected to realise that day. "Never mind that,"  _Let alone_  right after doing and being with someone else she had and continued to keep hidden from her.  _By Aslan's mane, it had been so close._ "Wherefore doth thou search for me, Athena?" She finally wondered onto the realisation that she  _had_ to stop thinking about Edmund and his various kisses, lest the blush return in full and the warrior at her side deemed it proper to ask the source of it. "I heard thee calling mine name, and not responded knowing thy closeness, but what be the reason of thy call?"

It seemed to have worked, for the other's expression shifted almost immediately into one the young protector would have described as excitement before a simple "Oh, right." Left her lips in a short mumble, remembering she had at all called before getting so comfortable with the other that the mere purpose of her calling had gone forgotten. Still, once remembered, the resolve returned as quickly as it had gone as a breath lifted her chest for a beat. "I had this wild idea," She began, nodding her head once before finding her eyes focusing on her friend at once, even going so far as linking an arm with one of Juliet's to keep her distance close enough for her words to be heard only by the young protector. "I was sparring with Edmund this morning,"— _Oh, no._  Juliet immediately thought, holding tighter onto the splattered objects and pressing her lips in a tight line as she walked: had Athena not asked what had been going on before because she already knew? She wondered, already assuming things that the continuance of her friends' words proved entirely wrong—"and don't even ask me how the conversation started, 'cause I wouldn't be able to tell you, but we somehow ended up on the subject of who was physically stronger in the castle, and we had this whole debate, and you ended up at the near bottom of the list, and I truly think that's wrong considering who you are,  _so"_ She emphasised the last word, moving quickly enough to halt their steps by the moment she stood before Juliet, both her hands on the other's shoulders as the smile returned to her lips and the wild idea she had previously mentioned finally became exposed: "I was thinking we could train together, prove everyone wrong, and make your Protector title more literal while we're at it." She finally said; her hands falling to her sides, her green eyes dancing on Juliet's own, expectant of the other's reaction and her mind surprisingly oblivious to the tension that so easily seemed to disappear from the other's shoulders. "What do you think?" She wondered, then. "Would you be up for it?"

Whether it was the relief of her kept secret, or the fact that anyone in the castle thought her weak, Juliet didn't know, but there suddenly seemed a smile had taken over her once pressed lips, and all thoughts of the romance she had thought had been discovered disappeared with the amusement of a single statement: "Oh, dear Athena, I  _do_  already train sometimes, but on my own." She confessed, moving around the other so their walk could continue, and finally giving into the exhaustion of her arms (the book was much heavier whilst holding it at arm's length) by holding the splattered objects against her stomach; never mind the pretty silks that had made up her dress.

"You do?" The other wondered, moving to catch up with the other and smiling with the confidence she could remember she had used to claim her friend's strength when the Just King had claimed otherwise. Of course Juliet Capulet could fight; would she really be named Protector to the Valiant Queen otherwise? Oh, how she loved being right. "With a sword?" The smile refused to disappear from her lips.

At that, at least, the young Protector's smile withered and her eyes easily moved to look in the other's direction. "Nay, not with a sword." She confessed. "My body be my weapon," Her steps did not falter, but perhaps slightly slowed as she focused on looking in Athena's direction instead of in front of her. "'Tis something I learnt within the fight against the Lifeless, lest a soul mate died in my watch over mine weakness." Indeed, her true life story had been one of the many tales told to the warrior walking by her side; so it was no surprise at all that the other had either assumed or guessed the strength many claimed Juliet did not possess was actually there; hence her smile. "I nay'r had a reason to use my strength here, thus I know not if it be the same, but out there, during one of my missions, I am stronger, I heal quicker, I move faster than any human or even Romeo can." She paused, lifting a shoulder in a quick shrug, but still not answering the initial query from her friend. "Thus, aye, I train on my own, making sure the truth remains thus: that I couldst defend the Queen or I if it were needed, strength aside."

Of course Athena was immediately satisfied: her argument had been proven right; yet there was a playful need of camaraderie within the marchioness that only Juliet had been able to fulfil over their mutually proven equality for the previous few months, so it was no surprise whatsoever that the general refused to give her game up by the mere intents of logic: "Well, what if the attacker comes in with a sword?" She wondered, even walking down the stairs without looking anywhere but her friend at her side. "Wouldn't you want to know how to defend yourself then?"

Even if she'd tried to make it, Juliet's smile would not have been able to disappear. "Of course I would." She admitted, holding her things with one hand and almost as quickly reaching for the other's to hold with the sudden excitement that filled her. "But couldst thou teach me?" She then asked. "For I would nay'th be taught by anyone else, but thou hast thy own duties, and training be one thing, yet teaching...?" The girl had stopped speaking in account to Athena's single hand gesture.

"Stop; of course I'll teach you." The marchioness immediately said, moving quickly once they'd reached the door to the public hall so her hands could catch Juliet's things, mindless of the nearly dried ink plastered all over them before she started walking a little quicker toward one of the many doors now reachable to the outside of Cair Paravel. "Besides, it'll give us another reason to spend time together, come on!"

Surprised but not entirely shaken, the young immortal's eyes widened and followed her friend's movements at once, her hands now free though still covered in ink, her once blue dress now tainted by the black of her afternoon adventures and her hair slightly less tidy than it had been that morning. "What; _now_?!" She called at a quickly moving Athena, who refused to let go of Juliet's things even as she walked backwards for a second so she could look at her friend with the grin to match Juliet's own.

"Yes, now!" She called, and shifted into a run once she turned, reached the door and quickly left the girl behind.

Thus, with the smile across her lips, the adventurous disposition and tainted clothes and hands, Juliet Capulet took hold of her skirts and ran behind the fifth member of her chosen family out into the fields of Cair Paravel.


	21. Chapter 21

─ ♚ ─ 

"Yeah, just hold it up; hold it up." Athena said, her hands holding her own sword tightly and rightfully, just like she had been taught, moving it shortly to show the girl across from her how it should be done; her green eyes studious, serious, regardless of the smile of short amusement she tended to always have whilst being around Juliet Capulet. "A little closer than that, you're not holding an axe." The note of her words were teasing, yet kind, encouraging the other with the lift of her lips as much as the camaraderie the two always shared. It was different, she noted, teaching someone she thought of as a close friend than teaching a whole group of newcomers the ways of the sword; she noted the other's weaknesses more, she worried more, she wanted, more than anything, to tell her to change into a pair of trousers and let go of the silks of her dress. Granted, she also found it far more amusing, noting the Protector's frown, the press of her lips, or the means with which her breath left jaded when she hadn't even begun fighting, but above all was the worry; she had known Juliet Capulet could fight, it had been obvious to her over the reality that she was more than Lady to Lucy Pevensie, but a Protector, yet seeing her struggle so much with the single training sword she had been given... worry; that smile of hers could do no more than hide the worry drowning her gentle heart.

But she couldn't know, of course, the truth that young Juliet had refused to speak for shame of her own self-thought weakness, that the training she had claimed to do on her own was one that had not existed for more than a year, when her lack of strength, her lack of protective skills, had hit her mind so strongly over the reality of her own fragility; yes, outside of Narnia, when her soul hid vehemently within the body of a living being, the strength hidden there was brighter than any human's, her ability to heal any wound was faster than any doctor could bring, even her speed was more than anyone else's, all, as she had confessed to her teaching friend, to help her work against the Lifeless, who already held those heightened senses merely for the truth of being immortal on Earth... but in Narnia? What had gentle Juliet inside her beautiful magical world than an immortal girl with a broken heart and a weakened soul? Nothing; and that truth had made her unable to go to anyone for help of any sort. After all, she knew how to move, she knew what she had to do if anyone physically attacked her, but what of the strength needed to be able to provide any protection? She had observed the guard training, she had watched Peter and Edmund spar and the Queens practice their skills alike, but she had remained silent, wishful of her own strength and doing no more for the sake of her own ability than practice movements she already knew (from previous fights with Lifeless during her duties as Protector of Love) and use the playfulness of the Queen for her advantage to use the swiftness of their playful runs to make her heart stronger. But did she know anything taught? No; the truth was, she was no better a protector to the Queen for anything other than the skills learnt in the other world than she was a Protector of Love in Narnia. The Just King had been right on that within the conversation that had made Athena offer her help with training and sword fighting: Juliet was weaker than most.

But, hey, at least she knew how to fight with hands; even if those hands seemed so weak that they couldn't even lift the heaviness of a training sword.

She had to let out a breath of short annoyance that suddenly made her understand the reasoning behind the marchioness' ever tied up hair. "'Tis ridiculous." She said, blowing a single strand of hair away from her face with her attempts at forbidding her hands of letting go of the sword; her legs were wide apart with hopes of helping carry the weight evenly, her dress rather inconvenient for the activity, but still, she tried. "I can lift a car back on Earth, but here, nay'th a sword." She paused, keeping her hands as close as possible upon the golden handle for the sake of the other's teaching and attempting for the fourth time to lift the training sword the way the other seemed to so easily do. "I am weak." She said, refusing to even look in Athena's direction for the reality of her own shame; great Protector that she was.

Of course, it was no surprise that the other easily sheathed her own sword before going to the Protector's aid, the smile still upon her lips regardless of the tone of her voice, which easily left her when she reached to help Juliet with her continuous attempts. "Stop, stop." She requested, holding her friend's attempting hands, and willing the amber eyes to meet hers. "Look at me; do you think I'm weak?" She wondered once their gazes finally met, her brows raised, almost challenging onto the other's vision, as if she thought she would say anything but what finally came out of her mouth.

"Of course not." Even her head shook; those long locks of chocolate falling over her shoulder for the motion, and proving all the more annoying for the first time in the entirety of her existence.

Satisfied, Athena nodded in agreement whilst her smile returned in full. "That's right, I'm not." She agreed. "And look at me: I'm a good few centimetres shorter than you are; which means you probably can hold more strength in one hand than I can in two." She attempted, even making sure her eyes stayed on her friend's for the sake of her own conviction. "But I'm going to let you in on something even I was shocked to learn," She paused, even if for the sake of the drama her friend was more famous for than her. "It's not about how much strength you have in your arms, it's about how you hold your weapon, and how you use whatever amount of strength you  _do_  have to move your weapon and defeat your enemy."

Could it really be that easy? It was exactly such a thing Juliet wondered as her eyes blinked away her own insecurity before gulping down the knot of her shame and moved her head into a single nod to agree with the other. After all, everyone in the castle now knew Athena Ashdown to be the greatest master at sword fighting under Edmund himself, so if she said it, if, with the centimetres she claimed to be shorter than Juliet, she claimed it was as easy as the handling and gripping of the sword, then she had to be right, hadn't she? "Okay." She trusted her, that much the Protector knew; thus the placement of her hope on her current teacher shouldn't come as a surprise for her at all. Still, it made her nervous.

Nervous enough to be evident for the crease on her forehead and make the green eyed warrior expel the gentle comfort of a kind laugh. "Relax," She attempted, patting her friend's back for a couple of moments meant to reassure before she finally walked far enough for the continuance of their training. "You'll do great, trust me." The echo of her sword sang as she released it from its sheath once again. "You already have something most people don't have when they start to train, and that's instinct." She admitted, keeping the smile upon her lips and nodding once to encourage the other to try again. "If you know how to fight without a weapon, you know how to fight with one, too. You just have to learn how to hold it, the rest is all instinct."

Instinct; Juliet nodded again, letting out a breath through parted lips over her own exhaustion and the nervous means based on the simple truth that all her instinct came from what little her body could even remember of the fights outside of Narnia and the strength she thereafter wished she could have in it as well. She could remember moving in her room, almost dancing, hitting the air, breaking a vase for the sake of seeing if she could focus her damage in one single direction, but those attempts at training had not come with someone else; for all she knew, all the instinct her friend praised was inexistent against anything but inanimate vases. "É vero," She began in her beloved Italian; attempting not for the other to hear for the mere mumble that left her frustrated lips as her hands attempted a good hold on the golden handle once again. "Sono nervosa, perchè non è possibile per la mia forza, ma tu dici che sì e ti mi aspetti a—"

"English, Juliet." Athena easily attempted, her brows raising with the amusement clearly displayed by her smiling lips and the sword swinging easily upon her moving hand. "I can't teach you anything if you're throwing foreign words at me."

It was the playfulness of the other's voice that finally made Juliet's smile appear with the gaze that lifted in the other's direction in equal diversion as the other's words by the means of a single glare. "Sorry," She said, forcing yet another breath to escape her parted lips regardless of her friend's playful laughter before her shoulders finally set, her hands tightened upon the handle, and the entirety of her focus landed on the way with which she was supposed to handle the sword. "What be the best grip, then; if strength matters not?"

With that single encouragement, the marchioness nodded once, and to the frustration of Juliet's eyes, she easily lifted her own sword as faultlessly as if it were the tainted sheet of paper resting on the grass a few feet away, alongside the book and the notes splattered by her adventures of the earlier day. "Just copy what I do," Athena instructed, motioning with her hands on the sword's handle with a single motion and even swinging it enough to make the taller girl's eyes roll slightly regardless of her wide smile.

"Aye." Juliet attempted, focusing her eyes on Athena's hands even as she spoke. "For it be such an easy task, to do nay but copy what thou doth attempt to show. I beg: forgive my feebleness, as much it hath inconvenienced thee this day."

"Oh, you're very much forgiven." The marchioness jested, clearly showing of her mirth by the continuance of her stance, and the challenging gaze directed at her friend's disposition, alongside the continued glare she returned even by the time she encouraged the other's finally correct grip on the still floored sword with a single nod and a couple of words: "Perfect! Now, lift!"

So Juliet did, too much holding of her breath and using her thighs for momentum alike she did whenever she had to carry heavy objects for the sake of her place as Head of the Household; finally, she was successful, noting the distribution of the weapon's weight attempted on both her hands by Athena's teachings, and smiling as widely as she could, thus looking like a proud child might look to a sister who had taught her all she knew. She hadn't even swung the sword yet. "What then?" She wondered, focusing only on her hold on the sword, and copying the stance her friend showed: one leg in front of the other, knees softly bent, body slightly angled, the sword held at stomach level. "Be quick, for it be heavier than I thought." At least, at that, she finally breathed a laugh.

"Spread your hands just one bit, you'll feel the difference." Athena instructed, nodding to the other in encouragement before speaking again. "Thumbs on top of your other fingers, not under them; the weight spreads out evenly that way,"—watching as Juliet did as instructed, Athena moved a step or two closer.—"Perfect, now don't get too used to holding the sword like that, okay? This is just the first step; it's the learning stance, or the duel stance, if you will. Eventually you'll learn to handle a sword with one hand, so you can protect the rest of your body with a shield in the other."

The short echo of a breathed scoff left Juliet's lips at the other's words; focusing her stance by the placement of her hands and the weight she attempted to carry with her thighs and her shoulders. "Thy expectance of my holding this sword with one hand makes't me think thou expect a lot more from me than I can give." Still, the smile remained.

"If I can do it, so can you." Athena retorted without a pause, focusing only on the other for the good of her lessons. "Now, don't bend your elbows so much," She took another step, now using the tip of her sword to nudge the other's elbows so they could lower with some physical encouragement. "Stretch your arms, your enemy won't be that close, perfect. Keep your sword up. Up!"

"It's heavy!" Juliet complained, foolishly remembering the burn on the inside of her forearms when she'd been holding her splattered objects far from her chest; that burn seemed like Christmas compared to the one she felt in that moment.

At least it made the marchioness smile again. "Then you're holding it wrong." She reminded. "Remember, it's not strength, it's—"

"The grip, aye. It be easier said than done, Athena." She struggled, yet, her continued focus managed to make her friend proud regardless of the small frown taking slowly over her forehead; after all, yes, her struggle with the heaviness of the training sword was evident—so much so that the tension of the muscles upon her arms was visible by the veins that popped from them—, but still, the girl would not give up: she hurt, she got tired, but never did her attempt to hold the weapon as high as her stomach waver. Indeed, she had a way of making her friend proud. "Is my chest supposed to hurt?" She wondered then within a huff of struggle.

Of course Athena's head shook shortly. "Not unless your enemy stabbed you." She informed, moving to easily place her sword under her armpit so she could have both her hands free by the time she stood behind Juliet. "I want you to shrug for a moment." She told her, managing to place her hands on top of her friend's shoulders by the time she had done as requested, nodding even to herself regardless of how the other couldn't possibly see. "Now, roll your shoulders back, slowly," She continued. "Stop when the pain on your chest stops." Her hands focused on the position of the other's shoulders, feeling the muscles under the silk of her dress align and lifting her eyes to focus on the other's head to note any changes by the time she felt the position was right; indeed, a single  _oh_  of surprise echoed from Juliet's lips the moment her shoulders perfectly aligned the way they should have. Athena had to smile. "There," Her hands lowered, and she took hold of her own sword once again. "That's the position you have to take every time you pick up a sword to duel like we are."

Of course Juliet was smiling by the time the marchioness stood before her once again. "My arms hurt still," Juliet confessed, following her friend with her eyes, yet refusing to move for fear of messing up the stance again. "But it be nay'r as much as before. It is tolerable."

Almost immediately, Athena nodded in agreement. "Then it means you're holding the sword right." Finally, she copied Juliet's stance; of course, when she did it, it seemed easier, graceful, even, much less of a struggle than it seemed to have been for Juliet; where Juliet seemed, by clothes and position, like a warrior princess in training, Athena looked like General she very undoubtedly was: simply a warrior. "I'm going to attack you now." She announced once her sword was in position to mirror her friend's; she even noted the brand new tension by the nerves of Juliet Capulet's shoulders, the breath that attempted to fortify her, and the single nod that followed from such a kind expression as it was Lucy's Lady's common friendliness. What a brand new side of the great Protector was Athena witnessing at last. "I'm not going to tell you from where my attack is coming, though,"  _Be there the catch._  Juliet thought, smiling. "Let's test those instincts of yours."

Juliet prepared, her lips parted to breathe, her arms stinging from the weight she was not used to carry, her eyes wide and ready... without even a single sound, Athena stroke; nothing but the song of her sword against the wind and the flying of her hair as she moved, leaving Juliet unable to do more than move the way her body begged her to. Her arms continued to hurt, even by the time she moved right to counter the other's movements; the discomfort of the giant weapon was enough to make her stumble, but she held her ground, her tiny heels digging into the sand of the arena, and her hands trembling under the pressure of Athena's sword against hers; her instincts had led her well. Still, Athena's smile remained, a challenge more than a teaching pride as she quickly moved to strike again; the clinking of iron against iron echoed in the training arena, and though the pain in the Protector's arms remained, each movement of Athena's was met by a counter attack of the immortal's instincts. Granted, her hair got on the way, and the long silks of her tainted blue dress had caused a problem the second she decided to take a step back whilst focusing on the heaviness of the sword and Athena's strength upon their hold, but still, even as her behind met the harshness of the arena sands, she would have made any teacher proud, for her instincts showed better than even the girl herself had thought them to be: it seemed muscle memory  _was_  something that existed regardless of the realm she stood in. "That's why you don't bring a dress to a swordfight." Athena played the second the other had landed on the ground; regardless, Juliet's sword remained protectively in the air, held by... "And look at you," The pride of the marchioness echoed entirely at that moment, lowering her sword and even motioning with her free hand to the girl in front of her. "You're holding the sword with one hand."

Indeed, Juliet was, regardless of her breathlessness or the means with which she was sure the elbow that had hit so harshly on the sand had to be bleeding from a scrap; well, her dress had already been tainted by black ink, now, it appeared, blood would join it. "Not without it hurting." She admitted, finally letting the weapon fall, and feeling as if she'd let go of a heavy box of rocks. "Evermore," she continued, moving with the swiftness only the sort of balance she had had since she was a child could provide. "I fail to remember thy hands trembling like mine were." Though her eyes didn't focus on Athena at that moment, for her hands attempted to dust off the blue silk of the dress she wore once she stood; there was ink on her chest, on the hem of her skirts, her hands were tainted by the same ink, and now there was sand everywhere, the elbow of her left sleeve was torn, and indeed, there was blood adorning the fabric where her limb had attempted to break the fall. "Oh, no." She shortly whined. It had been her favourite dress.

Yet as she made a short inventory of the silks that covered her, the warrior standing before her couldn't be prouder or more impressed by the other's coordination and rather clear agility; one which, evidently, the other wasn't as aware of as she should have. "Are you kidding me?" Athena wondered, softly over the Protector's whine over her pretty blue dress. "You're doing much better than I did when I started learning—pick up your sword." She confessed, paying no attention to the other's attempts, and moving a step backward for the continuance of their sparring; at least, it appeared so, for her sword swung in her hand, and her stance returned. "I was on my arse more times than I was on my feet, and for me it had nothing to do with the clothes I was wearing, since Peridan was kind enough to lend me some old trousers of his, so I'd say you're doing rather well."

At this, all the young Protector could do was smile, ignoring of the scrap on her elbow for the conviction of the other's words as she moved to pick up the sword her tired hand had dropped. "Really?" She wondered, keeping her eyes on her friend as her left arm moved to pick most of the weight from the heavy sword she attempted to raise once again; even a breath escaped her smiling lips over the exhaustion that became evident on the mess of her clothes, for sweat tainted a darker blue upon her dress, and the long locks of hair had begun sticking to her neck and cheeks with enough annoyance that she even moved to push it behind her ear. Glad to see her friend nod in confirmation to the compliment and allowing the brightest smile of all to light her features; after all, she had thought herself unable to defend herself or Lucy a while back, bringing upon her own silent training. Yet to know such things had worked, that her instincts were enough for her to stand her ground in a single fight of sword, it made her feel—"OH!" Well, it  _had_ made her feel wonderful until without warning or sound Athena moved to attack the girl once again, leaving her unable to think of her movements too much before her already tired hands lifted the sword wrongly enough for the clink of the meeting iron to become too much for her equally tired shoulders and any sense of strength held upon the handle of the sword become absolutely lost: making Juliet's arms twist in a way that placed all the weight on her wrists, thus too much to hold, which only allowed for the release of the weapon immediately, and the dull edge of Athena's training sword to fall on the Lady's shoulder. "A second, I beg, mine hands be not used to the weight of a sword! Nay'r the swiftness of an attack like that." Juliet admitted, opening and closing her hands, shaking them, and moving her shoulders for the sake of attempting to release the pain hidden there; still, she smiled.

"Your enemy's not going to announce themselves, you know?" Athena countered, swinging her sword for the sake of the balance in her hand before standing straight to allow Juliet the small moment of rest she seemed to need; still, the playfulness of her grin became enough for young Juliet to release a small breathed laugh and shake her head with the amusement the moment allowed before she bent forward and rested her hands on her knees; a funny sight for someone who wore a pretty dress of silk and cotton instead of the old armour Athena had grown so used to. "But you still have great instincts." The marchioness admitted, clearly as proud as moments before regardless of the newfound mirth for the fun she had begun to allow herself to have (enough to attempt hiding the worry that continued to nest within her mind). "Wrong weapon, though."

The single scoff of a breath confirmed the other's agreement. "Aye, I could have told thee so myself." Even her eyes moved to look at the sword with a gentle note of disdain as her head shook once again, making long locks of onyx to fall like a waterfall over her shoulder, thus forming a curtain upon her face by the time she looked in her friend's direction once again. "'Tis not comfortable," She continued, forcing herself to stand straight and push her hair back and behind her ear once again. "Too heavy, I confess; too large."

To that, all Athena could do was nod shortly, eying the dropped sword, pressing her lips together for a thoughtful second, and finding herself open to the brand new idea that so easily popped within her mind before narrowed eyes finally focused on Juliet's ambers once again. "We can get to the sword, eventually, but..." She moved to sheath her own sword as her body began twisting away shortly from the centre of the arena before she spoke again. "Stay there, I have an idea!" She requested moments before breaking into a run that left Juliet wondrous over the fact that not only she could run after the little spar and a half they had attempted (when Juliet herself was exhausted already), but that she ran well past the small trunk of training weapons resting in the eastern side of the arena in the direction of the weaponry room, where the  _real_  weapons hid, sharpened, deadly, ready to be used against any true enemy that could end their lives.

And so Juliet was left there, wondrous over Athena's actions, begging her magical heart to slow down for the sake of her exhaustion, and even allowing her body to nearly collapse to the harshness of the arena floor; mindless of the sand getting into her hair, mindless of the disruption of her dress, mindless of it all, for her arms hurt, her shoulders felt exhausted, and the reality of her heart continued beating like a melody alike the sort it sang when she ran by the side of her Queen's playful chases. Hell, she was even beginning to feel that morning's breakfast coming up; which was a ridiculous thought over the amount of time it had been since that day's breakfast. She'd be fine, she knew, but still, she felt like groaning with the echoes of exhaustion by the time her friend's steps echoed on the sands of the arena once again, and the chime of her name left Athena's lips like a melody of torture which meant the young immortal had to get up from the ground to face whatever idea the General had come to concoct.

"I found them!" She announced, the smile lifting her lips as she finally reached the girl on the ground, showing the objects she had gone to find with the sort of sure disposition Juliet could only wish she had when talking about weapons. "They're the only pair we have, since everyone prefers swords," The marchioness continued, looking from the girl to the intricate pair of weapons she held. "They were actually found a couple of months ago in the ruins of an old West-Narnian city destroyed by the White Witch" She looked in Juliet's direction again. "They're supposed to be off bounds, but I'm in charge of weapon distribution, so I say to hell with it: I think they'd be great for you." In her hands, Athena held two delicate daggers made of silver, of which handles were covered by a shiny black material that sparkled under the sunlight, and gold intricate details that made them so evidently unique it left the immortal unable to say a word; in fact, her eyes focused on the daggers while her body moved to raise from the ground, as mindless for the sand newly threading within her hair, or the one sticking to the silks of her dress as she had been when she had laid down, only, this time, it was for awe instead of exhaustion. "It's a Narnian dialect spoken mostly at the edges of the country." The green eyed girl continued, offering the daggers to Juliet, and smiling over the other's very evident admiration upon the beauty of the offered weapons; carved within the silver of the blade were words Juliet could not come to understand, intricate scribbles of another language that she had been much too preoccupied to think of learning until that moment. If only she had let herself enjoy her magical world before she had known she truly was meant to be within it, then perhaps the words encrypted upon the blades would not be foreign to her; thankfully, Athena was there to tell her of what she didn't know. "This one says 'the lion's plan shall be as the compass of their hope directs.' It rhymes more in its original language, of course." She translated with a smile, lifting the one of the two that Juliet had not yet taken. "And that one," She motioned to the one the Protector already held in dainty hands. "It only says four words: 'Hap Mej Colv Ce,' which truly makes no sense when put together, but each word means 'ruin', 'war', 'time', and 'birth', respectively." Juliet took the first dagger alike, mindless of her friend's shrug, for her eyes studied the details upon the handles as much as the blades themselves, careful, kind, surprised by the contrast of the lightness of the daggers she held compared to the big sword she had been taught to handle moments prior; something that became evident for the raise of her brows and the growing smile, for which note of a now familiar disposition in the open book of Juliet Capulet's emotions showed, Athena easily nodded and smiled again. "They're definitely much lighter than a sword," she agreed with the unspoken surprise. "Which is why I think they might work better for you in the mean time." She nodded, moving without too much of a care to kick the forgotten training sword away from their place of sparing and unbuckling the belt holding of her own training sword to throw it equally aside. "At least while your hands get used to bigger weapons." But, still, Juliet couldn't speak; not with the soft knot that suddenly rested in the middle of her throat for the ease with which her hands managed to find comfort in the holding of the light daggers alongside the contrast of Athena's words to the ones that had been haunting Juliet for what felt like much too long before... _you have become essential to Narnia, for you are its compass now, and you will be evermore..._ "How do they feel?"

How did they feel? Juliet echoed in her mind with awestruck parted lips as her fingers easily wrapped upon the daggers' handles, each crease of her fingers finding comfort on the details of gold and black that carried the blade effortlessly; she moved them in front of her, freer than she had even felt when she had trained in her own room; as if those movements had been preparing her for that moment, as if the instincts she had proven to have were moulding her to the quick instincts the handling of two daggers like those required her to have. They felt as if they were part of her hand; they felt light, strong, malleable... they felt like they were made to be used by her alone. "Better." She said instead of all the words that would have better described the truth, gulping back the knot within her throat, blinking back her own loaded reverie, and noting the smile her lips had unconsciously made by the time she looked in Athena's direction once again. "Much better."

With no more than a nod of relief and equal agreement, the general's disposition changed once again, taking only one step back for the sake of her stance, and moving to unsheathe her real sword from the opposite side she had placed the training one before; a single message was clear for the entirety of her movements: break time was over. "Since you're playing with real toys now, so am I." She announced, keeping the smile across her lips as she motioned to the beautifully crafted silver sword she now held with a nudge of her head, and encouraging her friend with a single smile that attempted to comfort the worry than then presented in Juliet's widened eyes. "It might seem unfair for me to use a sword when you have daggers, but trust me: you've got the advantage here." She informed her trainee with the single motion of a nod. "Just think of them as extensions of your hands, and do exactly what you would do when fighting without a weapon," She instructed. "Stop my attacks the way you would if they were my hands and not a sword; let the blades work like a sword of their own." She paused, noting the doubt in the other's features still. "Trust me," Her eyes focused only on the familiar amber of Juliet's own, and the camaraderie of her smile encouraging on its own. "You can do this."

It was difficult, but Juliet had to force herself to nod; not only for the encouragements easily spoken from the other's lips, but for the comfort her hands found on the dark handles of the daggers she held: her hands fit perfectly around them, and that was as terrifying within her mind as the foreign feeling the giant sword had had upon her hold. "If thou comes't to hurt me with thy mastered sword," Juliet began regardless, breathing slowly for the expression she attempted, and even smiling by the ease with which her body remembered the very stance she had come to have learnt within her fights with the Lifeless—shoulders curved onto the protection of her back, hands held close to her face, with the daggers pointing almost expertly in the other's direction, legs slightly apart and bent shortly to brace impact. "I pray thee, worry not, for I hold my heart immortal, and no blade can kill my soul." Nothing but her attempt at a jest to carry the lightness of the training moment home, both by her smile and Athena's, which broke into a breathed echo of laughter which begged the understanding the two held before the peace that held them came undone.

Just like before, Athena's movements came without a sound louder than the singing of the sword as it split the air in two, yet unlike the struggle Juliet had held when her own weapon had been bigger, her hands moved with ease and swiftness enough to stop the attack from the left, finding the pressure from Athena's sword much easier to endure by the separation of her arms, which held perfectly manageable by the daggers she held the way she perhaps could have stopped two fists from making contact; her heart raced with the very swiftness it had held within her exhaustion, but this time it was for excitement, for there Athena's attacks came, from one side, the other, even up, and much faster than she would have been able to stop if she'd had to worry about the weight of the sword from before, but each movement of the general's was met by an easy turn of Juliet's hands, with one blade making contact with the sword, then the other, even both managing to sway the other's weapon to the side, ducking and turning when their stances changed, and the game turned into a gentle dance that Juliet could easily match for the ease with which both hands moved to counterattack or defend herself, just the way she would Romeo if she were fighting in someone else's body, just the way she had won endless times against other Lifeless that attempted to make her duties as Protector of Love something impossible to achieve.

For the first time since she had attempted her own training, and as the general's sword came to a stop upon the edge of her throat, Juliet Capulet felt physically strong: after all, sure, Athena's blade could easily move for the deadly strike of the sharp sword against her throat, but both of Juliet's blades rested one ready to strike onto her friend's heart, and the other ready to slip easily into her stomach; if the fight had been real, Juliet could have won as easily as Athena would have.

It had been a draw.

"Definitely much better than I did when I first started learning." Athena easily jested; breathing heavily yet smiling with the very satisfaction the other's easy learning had brought that day as her hand and sword lowered from their stance alongside Juliet's own; no one would be able to erase the Protector's smile from her lips even if they tried. "You can definitely keep the daggers, Juliet. They're all yours."

It was pride and joy which lit the immortal's lips as her eyes lowered to look at the pretty daggers in her hands that spoke of a compass and a Lion's plan, her hands opening and closing upon their handles regardless of the thanks her lips easily expressed; for her hold kept the comfort from before, and though her arms did feel almost as exhausted as when she had used a sword for the very strength she had used to stop Athena's blows, this time the pain seemed to be spread evenly enough that when the general attempted a second surprise attack, Juliet easily was able to stop it even with the single handedness of a solitary dagger; dodging the entire blow by the movement of her arm to push the sword away and return to the ready stance she had been unable to take with the training sword. Somehow, she'd been as ready as before, but the ease of the light daggers made her movements easier to perform; those weapons felt perfectly natural within her hold. "Yeah." Athena finally said, evidently satisfied by the swiftness with which the immortal had been able to stop the surprise attack come for the test of her instincts like before. "Definitely, all yours."

It seemed, finally, Juliet Capulet was as much a Protector on Earth, as she had become a Protector  _of_  Narnia by the Lion's word.


	22. Chapter 22

 

─ ♚ ─

There was a small smile across the Just King's lips whilst his brown eyes danced observant from the girl whose hand he held—if anything, to make sure that her kind amber eyes remained hidden by the request he had made since he had found her—to the very door where their freedom could be found; after all, whispering, telling the other to tiptoe, they weren't things he enjoyed doing, but for the sake of keeping their dalliance a privacy, they were the things he had to do. Faking an errand when his siblings had asked him where he was going, planning the entire thing when he knew that Juliet would have nothing to do, making sure that everyone else would be busy within different rooms of the palace by the time they had to leave... not that he  _wanted_ to be hiding from everyone, but he had not lied upon his confession to the girl who now held the entirety of his heart within the gentleness of her palm: he was a private person, and the truth of their future remained as impossible as any he would have ever thought to have with her after the invasion of his dreams.

It was a future he dared not think of but sometimes did escape unwanted into his consciousness, one where he had to be miserable in silence for the sake of his own stubbornness; because yes, one day, one hopefully far away day, the King would have to let her go; the girl who had taken over his mind for much longer than he dared admit, he would have to set her free. Not, perhaps, for the reasons she claimed he would have, for the entirety of his mind could declare onto his assurance that he would wish no child to taint and break; but because there remained a single fact, one gentle reminder of the insecurity of his heart that beat into his mind the need to enjoy what he had while it lasted: she had said no to his brother, when the highest of opportunities had held within her path, so what in the world could ever make Juliet Capulet choose him, the betrayer of a land, the shadow in the hope of Narnia's path, instead? One thing was a dance, one thing was the many kisses, embraces, and terms of affection they exchanged, but another very different one was love;  _doth thou love me?_ The girl with the closed eyes had asked Peter once, and it was easy for the High King to say nothing, but what would happen when the time for Edmund to do the same came? Never mind that, what would  _she_ say to him? How could she ever have en emotion as strong as love could be to her for him when it had been so very impossible for her to have it with Peter? Why, oh, why would she choose him?

Thus, indeed, he had known what he'd signed up for; he had known what it would mean for him when the time came: nothing but a sort of sorrow he could already feel within his heart by the mere thought of the single action; one that would bring back the worry from his siblings' eyes if they knew, the pity, the avoidance of any serious thing that could make or break him for the sake of his sanity, as they had once upon a time attempted to do for something he mostly refused to talk about even to that day. So his privacy, the only thing he could still claim as his own, was as much wanted as absolutely necessary against the one thing he would make public if he could be sure it wouldn't backfire: his much too deep (and sometimes still very unwanted) affections for the girl of the amber eyes and voice of honey, Juliet Capulet. "Are we almost there?" She wondered, a reminder of the place they walked and the plans he had concocted; forcing all unwanted thoughts aside by the gratefulness of his majesty's silence, and allowing him to focus only on the otherwise joyful moments he would better enjoy whilst he still could: walking side by side with the girl he had thought he hated and now could not get enough of, guiding her to the place he hoped could lead them somewhere they could be together without the worry of being caught, holding her hand and smiling at the gentle curve of her lips for the truth she brought into his life: he could have something wonderful, even if it was temporary.

He nodded at last, as if she could actually see him do such a thing. "Almost," he allowed, noting the way the fingers of her once free hand held onto his forearm and the smile that lifted her lips as it became trapped under her upper teeth; her hold on his hand tightened, and the short echoing breath of laughter left her almost mindlessly against the evident nerves he had come to fondly recognise. "Do you trust me?" He wondered, eying the redness of her cheeks, or the long lashes that pressed against them.

Instead of the single answer he had hoped for, he received the short freedom of her smile and a blatant nod that made the end of her almost fully loose hair dance. "Nay that I should, but aye; against mine better judgement." Playful words alike the grin across her lips that refused to disappear, for the spoken was true, alike her heart, which so fully beat to the melody of his name as it had for the past few months; oh gentle affection that had struck her like the very dagger that had ended her life and made of her disposition toward him bloom like a rose to the spring that surrounded her.

Even with that familiar scoff that once upon a time would have made her stomach turn for the arrogance it presented, even with the evident pretence of discomfort that tainted the Just King's words regardless of their brevity of "Very funny;" where her own displeasure or lack of understanding of his hatred for her had once upon been, now there was only the affection of her turning magical heart that beat with the joy of his hand on hers, or the sound of his voice so near. Indeed, romance had worked its magic on them both, and no one would be the wiser for it; but how cruel, they both thought, Juliet ever oblivious to the reasons he thought it a torture: how cruel that such joy should come to end, she thought, when he had to truly and purposely wed. The danger of their affection had grown, and the pain the two had claimed to be aware of had doubled in time; to have such memories as the ones they now shared, a place, like Edmund's library had become, dare Juliet think, a heart, like the one that would shatter when the two parted.

Awareness made every second more precious than the last.

Yet it was a sort of awareness unspoken and untold; one that remained hanging above their heads like unwanted flags of warning that would beg them love no more. Unspoken for the smile the two held upon their lips or the ease with which, finally, Edmund stopped on his trail of guidance at the back of the main stable, letting the soles of his boots brush against the unbothered grass as his frame shifted so his lips could press gently against Juliet's own, who so easily responded to the brevity of the moment as if she had been expecting it all along. "Alright," the King finally said, pressing comfort to the other's hold on his hand before letting go with the expectancy of her reaction. "Open them."

And so, gentle Juliet did; revealing the pretty amber eyes Edmund had grown to look so fondly into and managing her newly free hands to rest upon the folds of her dress. She did not grip the fabric like usual, but instead merely threaded her fingers in the silk of the lilac gown she wore as a brand new happiness rose throughout her frame, making the king's favourite smile of hers appear upon her lips as the light of her joy shone upon her eyes for the sight they witnessed. "Oh, thou art pretty, indeed." For merely steps away from her, a distance she so easily attempted to close, rested a beautiful entirely white mare of long mane and elegant limbs which so merrily ate at some hay resting at her feet; it was that beauty which led the protector's hand to lift and shortly stop and retreat back onto herself before the inspired gaze looked onto the object of her unexpected affections once again. "May I?" She wondered; her hand upon her heart, and that smile ever-present on her lips.

Making Edmund, who so loyally stood by Phillip's side, smile alike and nod only once, for the ease of his allowance: "Of course you can, Juliet." He stated with only a speck of amusement to light his voice as he observed the immortal's soft hand and gaze finally focusing entirely on the white mare; he was no longer surprised to note her smile matched his own joy alike. "She's yours." He finished, patting Phillip's back for a moment before finally getting closer to Juliet and her new mare.

Of course, it was no surprise at all that the immortal could do anything but successfully hide her shock at the other's words; even if her hand remained on the mare's mane, which so happily reacted to her touch, her amber eyes widened and moved to meet her lover's through the elation in her lips. "Mine?" She exclaimed while the mare whinnied as if in confirmation to match Edmund's agreement; as if she understood. "Nay, she is her own before being mine." She vowed, looking at the white mare that leaned against her hand, either full of affection or searching for food. "I promise thee, kind: thou wilt be as free as I, and I shall be ever thankful for any moment thou wish't to lead me anywhere." A happy neigh responded the girl, and finally, without truly a word of warning, she turned and did as she once had forbidden herself to do within the confines of what they now both thought of as  _their_ library: to wrap her arms around Edmund's neck in a kind embrace that he easily returned with his own hands around her waist and a short laugh to match hers. "Thank you." She then said, freeing him but not completely letting him go for the sake of their ever needed affection before her lips pressed to his in a short kiss.

A kiss which Edmund pleasantly accepted before the distance between them grew enough for only the whispers of his speech to meet her. "You're very welcome." Even his arms lowered enough to only hold her hands whilst the chocolate of his eyes remained on the happy gaze she gave him—with the gold, green, and brown that made a magic of her own irises be so wonderful to him—or the smile that lit her features in ways he could be arrogant enough to think she only did around him nowadays. "Now, come on." He finally continued, letting go of only one of her hands and leading her easily to the mare who had returned to eating hay. "We only have a few hours to spare before the others start wondering where I went."

"Where are we going?" Juliet easily wondered, easily accepting Edmund's help to hop on the mare's back, and making sure the mare herself was as comfortable as she attempted to be.

Once she was secure, Edmund finally moved towards Philip. "Somewhere we can be properly alone," He informed, finally mounting his horse and managing to finish his thought with a grunt of effort after he rested comfortably on Phillip's back and held the very loose and rarely needed reins. "Without worrying if someone will come round the corner or call our names so we do some duty or other; how nice is that?"

A single smile of Juliet's met his query alongside her mirroring actions of holding the reins of her own mare. "Nice enough, indeed, my dearest, that thou hath thought of it so swiftly." She teased, managing to stay steady on the back of her white mare and even going so far as to release the gentleness of a breathed laugh once the King's feigned displeasure reached his features.

"Can you keep up?" He then wondered; fixing the belts that kept the single basket attached to Phillip's back (with his consent, of course) and challenging a smile in his lover's direction. "Or should we spend today teaching you how to ride instead?"

It was Juliet's turn to feign displeasure by the single roll of her eyes and the quick change of her position, which swiftly moved to sit straighter in response to the other's words. "I assure thee, thou wouldst see me learn too quick." She easily replied. "Thus, say no more; or if thou wilt, then speak of what wouldst make my riding easier."

Playful enough words to invite the satisfied smile into the king's lips; after all, whenever he proved to be better than Juliet at something, the contentment was as evident in his smile as the posture of his back. "Just trust her," He counselled before directing a single agreement of departure to Phillips otherwise quiet intent. "She hasn't spoken yet, and we don't know if she will, but we know she understands enough, so just trust that she will keep you safe, and use your legs to stay on top if you most." Philip began galloping away. "Oh, and don't hold on too tight!" Edmund called from the small distance, even looking back regardless of the pleasant smile across his lips. "She might not like it if you hold on too tight!"

And thus, he was off; the short laughter echoing from his lips, and leaving Juliet with no more than a narrowed gaze and the soft echoes of her lips. "Jest if thou must, but I pray thee listen, for thou wouldst see the lips that would then release the truest laugh." Nothing but a soft muttering to her own satisfaction as a single hand patted the neck of the gentle white mare that finally readied itself before she spoke again. "Nay, I lie," She continued. "For I would rather thou wouldst but kiss those lips instead." At that, the mare happily neighed in response; almost as if she'd laughed. Thus, allowing the echo of the protector's own giggle to join the mare's noises before she respectfully intended the white elegant horse to head along and follow Philip in his course.

♦

"It is not going to come to that, Peter." Queen Susan easily said, setting the shattered paper upon the familiarity of her giant map of a table before dropping to sit on her chair. "That is exactly why I'm offering to go."

They were words that should have relaxed the High King, but the shattered message on Susan's table spoke of something else; it spoke of his worry, of the truth of what the alliances with nearby countries had come to become, and how one in particular seemed to be striking against them: Ettinsmoor. They wanted independence, they wanted to negate the entirety of the Pevensies' rule, and have their own king, like Calormen, like Archenland; the paper shattered into three pieces, one of which Susan reached out for, spoke symbolically of people who wished to bring them harm if they refused to let them go, people who wished not to speak, people who, against his sister's better hopes, did seem to want a war. "I don't know, Su." He confessed for it, standing in the very same position of tension and worry as he had set himself upon his arrival to the other's cabinet room. "The tearing up of an alliance document seems to me like an act of war, and that sort of thing—"

"It is not an act of war unless they harm someone as the message." Susan easily interrupted, placing the rogue piece of paper alongside the other three and finally looking up in her brother's direction. "And they didn't, which means they _are_  willing to talk," she stated; her eyes focused on her brother's, her long hair braided majestically over her shoulder with the crown of golden flowers and stems becoming a perfect accessory, thus making her words echo like the queen she looked like; no one could help but listen when she spoke. "Think about it, Peter." She continued; the gentleness of her eyes as evident as the title she carried. "We have managed to live in peace with the other countries for six years; no wars have been fought against anyone that weren't supporters of the White Witch." She paused, for the sake of the weight which her words carried, and the attention she was glad to see she held on Peter's eyes. "Do we  _really_ want to end that peace by starting a war when it could be otherwise prevented?"

Unfortunately, if anything could be said of all Pevensies, is that they were a stubborn lot, as it showed by the way with which the High King refused to do anything but shake his head before his entire disposition became clear with the echo of his words. "Then I should go." He began, refusing to let his sister speak regardless of the near immediate reaction of her newly shaking head. "It would make more sense for me to go; that way if it  _does_  turn into a war, then—"

"We don't  _want it_  to turn into a war, though, do we?" The Gentle Queen interrupted once again, leaning now against her table with her hands on the shattered alliance document before speaking again. "Think about it, Peter, please! If you go, it is  _sure_  to be turned into a war." She attempted, still sitting on the chair at the head of the big table yet finding her words echoing with the same sort of power Peter's had. "Why else would the High King leave his country but for war?" She continued. "But if I go, then it won't seem like a direct threat, like a challenge. It will seem like what we should want: a respectful conversation between two countries. Thus, I'll go," She repeated, her eyes falling to the paper under her hands as her brow furrowed with the intent of the ideas she wished to have; after all, if the eldest Queen of Narnia went in an impromptu trip to Ettinsmoor and seemed to have no other reason other than the broken alliance under her hands, then the threat would be almost as equally direct as if Peter himself did go. So then, what? What excuse could Susan Pevensie, The Gentle Queen, could concoct as the reason for her visit? And indeed, as easily as she wished for an idea, one came; but it was one that was as unwanted as the prospect of war could be, for it meant the refusal upon her coming of age ball had been for nothing, it meant that the freedom she had allowed by counsel of Lucy's Lady and Susan's own good friend, Juliet, would have to come to an end, it would mean that—"I'll go," she said before her mind could waver. "With a claim to seek the courting of the one who intends to be king of Ettinsmoor."

"Susan..." Peter attempted, but it did not work; the Queen's words easily quieted him, and her eyes met his once more.

"No, Peter; you've been right all this time, and so have the nobles." She began, raising from her chair and balling her hands on the pieces of the broken alliance as she went. "I  _am_  a Queen, and my thoughts of marital freedom continuing until I was ready were foolish." It was an admission that brought her a sorrow she refused to show even to her brother, but one he noted regardless for the shadow in the tempest of her eyes. "I may not want to participate in battles, but I can still help Narnia like this; I will offer them what lays shattered here," She shoved one of the crumpled pieces of parchment in Peter's direction, which he so quickly caught by reflexes only a good warrior could have at such short distance. "An alliance they would be daft not to accept."

It was, indeed, an easy solution; one that would avoid them deaths and thus allow the peace to remain. But it was as a brother, not as the High King, that the words left his lips: "Well, I don't like it." The hand that had caught the crumpled piece of parchment lowered to set the piece upon the table. "I don't like it, and nor will the others, I assure you that." He stated with the security his knowledge of his siblings he would claim onto anyone he held.

"I guess we will see, then." Susan easily replied, moving away from her chair and past Peter towards the great closed door many steps behind him. "Let's call a council meeting to sort this all out." She easily offered alongside the creaking of the opening door; but at the lack of sound of following steps, Susan turned to look at the concern in her brother's face. He didn't like it, indeed, and neither did she; but she was a Queen, and just as she had said: she had been foolish to listen to the hopes of her teenage heart; Queens never did have that luxury. "Tonight, Peter." She prompted with her own discontent hidden by the frown of determination that remained alight. "If you're right on their intent of war, then we have no time to waste."

And with that, she left; leaving no more than a concerned Peter Pevensie looking after her and wishing there was some other peaceful way to prevent a war than to offer his eldest sister's hand in marriage.

♦

The horses rested somewhere along the field, the sun had made its journey towards the west, and twilight had begun setting in by the time Edmund and Juliet even thought of breaking the kiss that had started hours before by the teasing of the strawberry she had been eating; the food the King had brought for them to eat was either gone or ignored, for her back rested on the grass, her hair tangled in his fingers regardless of how they kept her hands by the sides of her face for the playfulness they had intended. "See?" He said within the soft echo of a note he daren't use within the castle, releasing her hands and resting his weight on his elbows instead, even if he partly rested atop her alike. "Isn't this so much nicer than having to hide around in the castle?"

The amusement left the immortal's lips, of which lower had become trapped by her upper teeth in attempts of keeping back the smile that regardless soon after parted them. "Aye, but we  _are_  still hiding." She allowed, one hand moving to trace the softness of his lips with the pad of her index (a gesture that had become a favourite of hers) as her eyes returned to his. "'less of course thou think'st otherwise for the freedom of the wind in our hair."

A simple fact to which the king easily nodded the agreement he emphasised with the short press of his lips on hers. "I do." He confessed before rolling off of her and lying by her side instead. "Not to mention, it is nice not having to whisper all the time." He continued. "Not that I mind it, of course," He continued, looking at the slowly surfacing stars and simply allowing his hand to find hers and keep their contact that way. "I'd rather have you listen to what I have to say than anyone else, but—hey, what's this?" The interruption came when the inside of his wrist rested against hers and the solidity of an onyx handle became exposed from her cotton sleeves and cold against his touch.

"Oh," Juliet acknowledged, her eyes falling to the same place his did, and her hand wiggling free of his so she could raise her arm and, with the other hand, pull her cotton sleeve upward to reveal the brand new leather sheath belted around her forearm; within it rested one of her two new daggers; the handle pressed only a couple of inches below her wrist, which she easily got hold of with the other hand so she could unsheathe it and show it to the boy beside her. "I only started to carry them around today." She announced, pride evident in her voice as she rolled to rest on her stomach with hopes of rolling her other sleeve up to show the matching sheath and dagger—which she also unsheathed and held with the same pride escaping from her lips—and observe him handling the silver dagger and its inscriptions with care. "I begged Athena help me make a sheath I could carry around at all times," She continued, noting the small frown in the middle of Edmund's forehead as he studied the single dagger he held. "Ne'er did she cease her attempts to convince me a belt like hers would suffice, but I won in the end."

"Hang on," He said with the surprise that came over him when recognition befell him over the dagger he held as he shifted in turn to match Juliet's position by the resting of his elbows on the grass; a suspicion of recognition that was proved right only by the moment he saw the matching daggers sitting side by side on the darkening grass. "These are the daggers we found in Raeland." It was for it that the small frown upon his forehead had refused to disappear.

A fact easily confirmed by Juliet's nodding head, even as one hand moved to push all her hair to one side; lest the king be unable to see the smile that she so contentedly showed for the one thing that finally allowed her to feel as strong in Narnia as she felt in a mission on Earth. "But I swear to thee, by mine own beating heart, they feel as if they hath been made for me." Even then she moved a single hand to reach for the dagger speaking of Narnia's compass before the pads of her fingers graced the foreign words encrypted on the blade itself. "T'sounds impossible, I know, but from the first time I held them, I knew it true."

He wished to do anything but, yet Edmund found himself forcing a smile where his lips begged him not to; for the reminder came by the single name of He who he continuously thought watched him crossing through his mind even as he allowed his thoughts be expressed: "It's not impossible."  _Aslan_ ; after all, had Father Christmas not gifted his siblings with some sort of weapon once upon a time? Who was to say that something similar hadn't happened with Juliet's daggers; those she claimed to feel had been made for her? "Not here." Yet another reminder that the subject of his dreams belonged in Narnia as much as his siblings did; yet another reminder that there was absolutely no way his story could end with her at his side for the place she held within the world he called a home and that the affections they shared had a time limit. The question was... when was that limit to come undone? "Come on," He said, then, barely showing of the very thoughts that had darkened his mind alike the night did to their day together, before moving to press a single kiss on her shoulder and release a breath as he twisted to sit on the grass in order to begin gathering the things he had spread for their made up picnic. "We should be heading back, or Peter is going to send a searching party for both of us."

How long? Oh, Aslan,  _how long_ did he have left with her _?_

♦

The candles lit the entirety of Cair Paravel against the dark of night outside regardless of the moon's perfect brightness coming from outside the windows, and still, not one member of the personal guard could say anything for the Just King's whereabouts; not even Athena, who had become Edmund's sparring partner every day and had seen him in all his stoic glory that very morning, as she so intently claimed to the High King, who had asked her for the third time within the past couple of hours. "Has anyone searched the stables?" He wondered in Peridan's direction at his right, walking with the purpose of worry that had lit his features since his news to Susan hours prior; only now, his worry rested on two siblings instead of one.

"We have." Peridan replied, lowering his hand to rest upon the head of his sword and managing to keep good pace with his adopted sister and the High King himself as the three walked along. "In fact," He paused, his head shaking shortly regardless of the way his eyes finally lifted to look at his King. "Peter, we have searched everywhere,  _including_  his private library, and we could not find him."

A breath of frustration left Peter's lips with enough swiftness to match his pace. "He said he was going to go on an errand this morning, but I long thought him back." The words seemed to be directed at no one in particular, especially when the continuance of them so easily echoed strongly in the direction of the two at his side again. "Search the stables again; search the whole castle, even the dungeons."

"Peter, come on." The marchioness and general to the castle's guard said as her and the two men at her side went down a flight of stairs. "We have already searched everywhere," She claimed. "Twice."

But the oldest Pevensie could not give. "Then search again!" He called; startling both Peridan and Athena enough to get them to stop on the same step and share a single worried gaze. "I'll search the stables myself, just keep looking," Peter continued by the time he reached the lower floor. "If he is not found by the time I come back, we're sending a party." He didn't even turn back to see the concerned gazes of his friends before he left through the very same door Edmund and Juliet had left through that afternoon; instead, the High King simply walked with loud steps upon the grass and a frown inlaid onto his forehead. After all, the very joy the day had brought him at the many plans made with Athena Ashdown that morning had shattered into a million little pieces with the arrival of the broken alliance and the determined disposition of his sister's that had even made him realise the absence of his younger brother since that very morning.  _I have an errand to run in town, I'll be back later._ No one had questioned him; why would they, when he was as much a king as the other three and he could take care of himself better than anyone with his skills at sword fighting? Yet there Peter was, walking the distance from Cair Paravel to the private stables with the worry of the broken alliance weighing down on his shoulders, and the paranoia brought from the very thought into his mind: what if the message had been the first of the Ettinsmoor plans? What if the errand Edmund had run off to had never been achieved for the actions of the ones who wished their independence? What if he had been kidnapped, or killed? The very thought brought a sense worse than dread by the time he reached the line of oak trees dividing the fields of the training arena from the stables; what if he had failed him by ignorance if not by deed? What if Edmund Pevensie was truly dead regardless of his skills as a warrior, what if he—"What in the name of Aslan is going on here?" He then wondered with the anger of his own concern and self-distaste when he passed the line of Oak trees into the familiarity of the stables to come face to face with the very image that would make of every single one of his fears disappear as quickly as the rage equally replaced them: with her back resting against the tree nearest to the stables, and his hands tangled in the length of her dark brown locks, Edmund and Juliet pulled away from the ardent kiss Peter had interrupted them from. They had been there, like two forbidden lovers hidden under the moonlight and resting by the trunk of the thickest tree, kissing, whispering long goodnights and so swiftly pulling away the second a brand new voice broke the bubble of their privacy; oh, he had been so wrong. So, so very wrong to worry; "So this is your errand in town, is it?" To his surprise, Edmund seemed to dare not take another step away from the girl whose face now refused to look anywhere but the ground; and that fact alone was enough to raise the anger within the High King's words. "We've been searching for you for the past five hours, dealing with a serious political situation of urgency, and you were somewhere else snogging the nobility?!"

The words were unfair, and he probably knew it the second they left, but they were brought through the rage evident in every speck of his stance, and thus rolled through Edmund like a slap against him more than Juliet; she who was a friend to all the Pevensies, as was much more than the word nobility allowed. It was for it that he frowned and easily took a step in Peter's direction, ready to reply with the very anger his brother had fired within his chest and spit onto him the very words that rose like bile upon his throat. "I'm sorry," came the words instead from Juliet's lips, whose hand slipped from Edmund's as easily as he had held onto her and whose frame easily moved onto a curtsy that swiftly disappeared for the sake of her apologetic escape. "I beg thee, pardon me; I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for, it's him who—" Edmund attempted, his anger evident on the echo of his words as the cold of his now empty hand befell him against the contrast of an otherwise happy day; but he had been stopped from the movements he had begun to make to follow the retreating girl into the line of oak trees and into the training arena.

Stopped by his brother; who just as swiftly attempted to speak regardless of the very fire ignited within his own head for the image now seared into his brain: Edmund and Juliet, his brother, and the girl who had denied him. "Let her go." He said within the same rage he so intently attempted to hide; something he was not as successful as Edmund to do. "We'll deal with this tomorrow; right now, we have more important matters to discuss."

"Let go of me!" Edmund demanded, pulling his arm away from Peter's touch and welcoming his own anger to expel the very words he thought regardless of their consequence; regardless of his insecurities, regardless of any time limit that continued to nag at him even at that moment for the truth that came onto his mind thereafter: had the time limit come so quickly? "There is nothing to discus; we have done nothing wrong!" He called regardless of such a tempestuous mind. "Just because she denied you it doesn't mean—"

"Tomorrow, Ed!" The High King called; taking the few steps closer to his brother with intents of killing the fire of his rage by the truths of the hellish day he had had as easily as the admittance of the shattered document forgotten in Susan's desk. "Right now we have broken alliance with Ettinsmoor to deal with." He confessed in a low voice still carrier of his rage, lest anyone else not meant to know of the situation overhear, and the entire problem exploded above their heads. "So we  _will_ deal with this tomorrow; because right now there is a council meeting we have been waiting around for you for."

It was with no more than a shared short glare that Edmund could see his brother depart, hating him for his words towards Juliet as much as he hated himself for even thinking he could hate Peter at all in the first place; as if he hadn't changed one bit, as if he hadn't learnt the allowance of hate had led him somewhere he never wished to reach again. It was easier to hate himself than his siblings, and he welcomed it even with the continuous anger that remained across his features by the moment he followed in Peter's steps for the importance of the situation he had spoken of; after all, he could hate himself all he wished to, he would not betray himself no matter what. Blasted be the affections he had allowed, blasted be his dreams, blasted be his heart and his hope for making it so very impossible to part from Juliet now, blasted be every single thing that led his mind to the echoes of self-loathing that accompanied him all the way to the worries of Susan's arms or the roof of the council room at last. Blast it all; for if he had not been so distracted with the joys of something he never thought he would come to have, then he would not have been so distracted on his sense of redemption to come so far as to think his own hatred to rest on Peter once again. Within that single moment, he felt as if he had not learnt a thing regardless of what he had lived, regardless of what he had thought, regardless of anything that spoke louder than the single moment of thought-hatred that was no more than rage onto he who had wronged someone he cared for as much as he did Juliet; to him, the single moment negated every action from the previous six years that spoke the very opposite of what he thought—the truth his title held, the calculation of his actions, the forgiveness given by all in the castle and more than half of Narnia itself.

Within that moment, Edmund Pevensie hated no one more than he hated himself.


	23. Chapter 23

  ─ ♚ ─  

The tension of the previous night, which had remained all along the duration of the meeting the royals and the council had finally been able to have upon Edmund's arrival, continued by mid-afternoon the following day; much after their usual breakfast (where Peter nearly entirely refused to look in Juliet's direction) or the actions that followed it, which went entirely against what the eldest King had ever wished for the good of his family. They all had had to say goodbye to Susan and hope things went as well as she and the other nobles expected it to once she had offered the single help that set her freedom in peril; of course it had been no surprise every single person in the council (Peridan included, which only managed to make Peter all the more tense) had agreed to the peaceful approach to Ettinsmoor's destruction of the alliance of peace for nothing more than the continuous reality of a lack of wars against should-be allies since the beginning of the Pevensie's reign, but such a fact did not even work to make things easier even by the moment Queen Lucy herself had offered to go by Susan's side on her pursuit of self-claimed romance. A fact, of course, that was agreed to not come to pass, for the presence of two Queens instead of one would come as threatening as if the High King himself were to step foot into their streets; thus it was that it had been agreed: Queen Susan would go with no more than her personal guard, and the attempted friendly company of Athena Ashdown, who would, as her first big mission as general of the militia, secretly act as eyes and ears to the kingdom, sending updates through messengers or letters to Peter himself, but more importantly to Orius, the general of the Narnian army, who would be expectant and hidden during the entirety of their trip as a precaution: in case the Ettins people refused anything other than war.

After all, much like Juliet Capulet had become a close friend and confidante of Lucy Pevensie upon her appointment as Lady and Protector, Athena Ashdown had become, without much expectancy or surprise from her adoptive brother, wonderfully close to the Gentle Queen once she had become a Lady within the castle's walls; and by it came her place at the side of the Queen's masked trip: for the people knew of their friendship, and the nobles attending the many winter balls alike, so it would be of no surprise to any who did happen to see them to note Athena's supportive companionship upon Susan's first official trip in the search of an alliance by marriage. It had worked perfectly as a plan, where the Queen would be perfectly protected, and those who would remain in Cair Paravel would be as informed as Orius himself, and it was for it that the meeting had been adjourned, the plans set, and the peace of their restful night attempted until the worries of the following days befell all those who would leave or stay, and the beginning of the day called them to attention again.

But the tension remained, within Edmund's mind as much as his brother's by the time the silence had returned to the castle and Juliet herself had become scarce and nearly refused to look in either King's direction; her thoughts, as ever, were a mystery to all except the very person who she had spent so much time with aside from Lucy for the previous few months: he whose eyes she refused to meet slightly less than his brother's for longer than a few moments for the sake of formality: Edmund. And it was that fact alone—the distance of her curtsies, the doubt upon the soft touch on her hand he had attempted, or the echo of her voice leaving like no more than the nobility Peter had called her—that allowed the tension in the Just King's mind to bleed deeper than the very worries about his sister and best friend's departure, and thus led him purposefully and full of rage towards the closed door of the High King's private chambers alike he had requested come the morning sun. The scene of the previous night replayed within his mind like the echo of the very time limit he had been scared of, followed by the Italian's distance, or the way in which she seemed to refuse any soft instances between the two, even when they'd been alone; not to mention the hatred that had brought such self-distaste onto the night. It had been unfair, all of it; their interruption, the sadness and worry he had seen in Juliet's features alongside the guilt before she had left, the halting hold of his brother so he couldn't even think of following the girl who had so overtaken his mind, his words,  _snogging the nobility_ , as if Juliet were no more than that; as if she hadn't been a friend to Peter for far longer than she had been to Edmund, as if she hadn't played, joked, and acted around the rest of his siblings the way he had only wished she would with him since that unwanted attraction had come into his mind; as if Juliet Capulet weren't Lucy's best friend, Susan's confidante, or Peter's own partner of dance and game. Had the latter not been the one to offer Juliet the position she now held, or allowed her to take part of private meetings for the sake of who she was to the world they were new to?

And still, he dared diminish her place within it into no more than the single world  _nobility_? As if she weren't more than that, as if she weren't older and wiser than all of them put together? Of course, Edmund wouldn't say such things out loud, lest they get to the girl's head, but the truth of those thoughts were the very ones that refused to diminish his rage. "Come in." The words came from behind the giant closed door he had so mightily knocked on, and the frown in his forehead simply refused to disappear; the unfairness of the situation with Juliet and the danger of the one with Athena and Susan were enough to have the entirety of his heart and mind preoccupied and unable to relax even by the time he pulled the big door open with a single acknowledgement to the guards on his side of the door and moved to close it once he'd passed the threshold. "Ed; good." Peter said, finishing his signature on the personal letter he had been writing, and moving swiftly to roll it onto the hopes of its privacy to place the single wax seal with the official emblem of the Pevensie family; but not before, without exactly meaning to, Edmund could see the name of his best friend scribbled at the very top in the familiar penmanship of his brother.  _Dearest Athena._ "Now that the main issue has been dealt with, we can talk about what happened last night."

If it had been any other day, perhaps Edmund would have teased his brother on the continuance of his unofficial courting of the marchioness; but that day, after the very events the High King wished to speak of combined with the very actions he attempted as he set the personal letter aside and crossed his arms atop his mahogany desk, the Just King was in no mood for jokes. "I already told you last night, there is nothing to talk about." He easily started, lacking the surprise that should have shown when the relaxation of his hands moved into the tension of fists. "Unless, of course, you mean how you should  _apologise_ to Juliet for what you said."

A statement annoying enough to the High King that any speck of tranquillity that had been upon his features before Edmund's arrival easily disappeared in the very frown that would manage to mirror his brother's. "Since when do you care about what Juliet feels or thinks?" He said regardless of his mind's true acknowledgement of his fault; the depth of his blue eyes dancing on the chocolate of his brothers merely for the very paranoia he had come to terms with for years. "Up until yesterday you and she seemed to, if not hate then barely even tolerate each other, so what's changed?" He wondered. "Or are you both doing this simply to spite me?"

Of course the younger king had to release a single scoff that managed quite easily to accompany the sardonic smile that lifted his lips as he forced his eyes to look away from his brother and towards the familiar painting of a resurrecting Aslan upon the stone table.  _Aslan, give me strength._  "You really are full of yourself, aren't you?" Edmund accused before he even dared look back at the blond would-be-man sitting so elegantly on that big chair of his. "I mean, I get thinking that of me, but of her?" His head shook; having so deeply to ignore the proud fact that, up until the previous day, their romance  _had_  been kept secret enough to have Peter himself think they hated each other. If he only knew how long Edmund's heart had been working tricks on his mind for the amount of affection he held for the Protector of Narnia. "When she's the last person to wish harm or sorrow onto anyone; she's humble, and she's pure, much like the Queen she serves, which is more than I can say for either of us;" He paused. "Or are you forgetting how she denied you regardless of the  _crown_  you offered her?"

Peter's head shook with the very disbelief that had come into his mind the very second he had broken through the line of oak trees to bear witness to the kiss between she who had denied him and his own brother; after all, it was such a contrast: from the very sort of loathing he had sworn he'd seen in Edmund's eyes whenever Juliet was around, to suddenly hearing him speak so warmly of her. "It is  _because_ she denied me that I think you should not pursue this any further." He confessed; though the words echoed harsher than he meant them, and much past the logic he attempted by the parting of his lips to continue explaining that his utmost worry was the possibility of a broken heart onto his brother, but the other King's words interrupted him faster than he could even take a breath to go on.

"You have  _got_  to be joking!" Edmund called, closing the distance between him and Peter's desk over the disbelief that drove him, and managing to ignore the echoes of his brother's interruptions, which he refused to let him finish whilst he continued calling the very truths that had led him to that room knowing exactly what awaited him in the first place. "You don't even  _like her_  like that, Peter!" He reminded him, motioning with a single hand in his direction and finding himself unable to do more than frown. "You said it yourself: you were relieved when she said no, because she was right: you don't love her!"

"Oh, and you do?" Peter challenged; his hands on his desk and his eyes refusing to look anywhere but the very brother that had worried, thus, angered him the previous night.

But the question was much too loaded for Edmund's taste; after all, he had expected Juliet to be the one to ask him eventually, to confront him the way she had Peter upon his proposal  _Doth thou love me?_  But he was not ready; he couldn't be, not with the amount of hatred in his mind, or the echoes of his own insecurity driving holes upon the heart she held within her palm. It had been supposed to be Juliet who asked him that, she who would give him the confidence of knowing what to say when the question came; not Peter, not now. "That's not the point." He said because of it, his voice much lower than before, thus making his brother think he proved his point by the very scoff of affirmation that left his lips and the way with which he leaned back onto his chair. "The point is that she said no to you!" Edmund continued, ignoring the other's expressions and finding his frown deepening all the more as his attempts at confrontation. "And now, because of it, you think she'll say no to me, too!"

Eyes that had fallen to the blank parchments on the top of his desk now rose to look in Edmund's direction with the surprise and unexpected content of the other's words. "Hang on a second," He told him, leaning slightly closer to the desk while the blue of his eyes searched every one of his brother's features for the answer to the question he soon after made: "She said no to me when I proposed, are you meaning to say that you're planning on  _marrying_  her?"

Now  _that_ was a much more loaded question than the one before. " _What?_ "The younger king almost immediately exclaimed, his eyes widening with the surprise of the query, and his hands almost automatically moving to rest on his sword; as if the question had been an enemy he had to vanquish immediately before it brought harm to him or those he loved. "For Aslan's mane, how do you come to think...?—you're twisting my words!"

The entirety of the conversation had become too much to take by merely sitting down, which was why the High King swiftly moved away from his chair and rested his hands on the very desk where moments prior he had been attempting an emotion-filled letter to the warrior accompanying of his sister's task. "I do not twist your words, brother." He claimed with the anger that had so easily moved to rest upon him once again. "According to your accusations, I think she's going to deny you too, and considering how she's only denied me in marriage, how else am I supposed to take your words?"

Another echo of frustration left through Edmund's lips; after all, what else could he do when the very intentions of his confrontation had come to be twisted so soulfully onto the very things he had been thinking of himself? Things like Juliet's eventual refusal to go on through the motions of the romance they shared, or the truth that even the act of marriage was not one he even thought of, thus allowed more time onto the very romance itself (because yes, if Edmund even thought he would propose to her at any point in the future, he did also think she would say no to him as well); but to have Peter spit all of it in Edmund's direction as if he could read his mind was annoying enough without the other's conviction onto something even  _he_  thought had only been going on for a day. "My point is that it was just a kiss." Edmund finally announced, feeding onto the belief of the short instance of the infatuation and forcing all other thoughts away other than his own assurance of the injustice spoken through Peter's lips onto Juliet, or the very jealousy he thought he held. "My point is that you  _insulted_ Juliet for one single kiss that might not even mean what you think, and—"

"Oh, so it was just the one kiss, then?" Peter interrupted with the challenge he presented; for he was sure it could have been, he was sure he could have gotten worked up for the truth of only one kiss, but the mere probability of Edmund's eventual broken heart had worried him enough to think himself annoyed by the entire situation; as if it hadn't been enough that he had to worry about Susan's well being in her voyage to Ettinsmoor and their broken alliance. But unlike his previous questions, which had been answered almost immediately, this time the silence remained; as it would, for the younger king had not expected him to ask such a thing so plainly, and such stillness became enough of a confirmation to bring about Peter's frown once again to accompany the echoes of disbelief that befell through his voice. "It's  _not_ the only one, is it?"

Well, he could have lied; for the sake of Juliet's privacy as much as his own, he could have claimed the kiss Peter had been witness to was the first. But he had not lied since the treachery with the White Witch, and doing so at that moment, even for something as small in comparison, as the continuous kisses with Juliet Capulet, felt alike the night before, like a step backwards in an otherwise nearly forgotten reformation. Who would he be, who would the romance with Juliet make him, if he started lying again for it? Thus, his head shook within the silent reply to his brother, and the very annoyance of his rage became enough to make his voice nearly explode within its release: "But what does it matter if it is the first or the second? That is my point! Why should you even care?!" He wondered, his eyes heavy on his brother's as he took yet another step forward, the tips of his boots hitting the single chair stood opposite the one Peter had abandoned, thus making it screech shortly on the hard floor. "Why should it be wrong for me to kiss her? Why should you even think I would need to ask your permission to kiss her, when she's made it very clear she's not even yours to be thinking such a thing!"

Yet, almost immediately, Peter began shaking his head once again. "I never said I thought she was mine to even think I could have a say on what anyone does with her." He confessed, standing straight and allowing his arms to cross upon his chest whilst his feet led him away from the opposite side of the desk and towards his brother. "I just don't like it, Ed, not for you."

Well, if the words spoken before hadn't already placed a red rage within him, then surely that single admission worked wonders to make Edmund have to take a step back from Peter at once. "But why?!" He called as the nails of his fingers dug deep onto his palms; better hurt himself than regret coming to hurt someone else by the very anger that drove him. "What is it to you?" He continued. "Why should you even care if it's her, someone from the village, or the bloody  _princess_  of Archenland? What consequence, other than a wounded ego, would it even have on you if Juliet chose me instead of you?!" It was a wonder for which he nearly begged an answer, because the truth remained: the only reason he could even think his brother to be upset over Juliet was if he liked her himself; and unless the great Peter Pevensie had lied like the great martyr he was, then Edmund, Susan, and anyone else who had even known of the proposal to the immortal girl, knew that the High King had been relieved over the protector's denial onto him.  _I think of her as a sister, I'm glad she said no; in fact, I think I should apologise: it was wrong for me to ask._ Was that a lie? Was the entirety of his expressed relief nothing but the very echoes of an outright lie? The silence accompanying of both King's frowns was enough for Edmund to think otherwise. "See, there  _is_ no reason!" He accused in a voice lower than the exclamation from before. "None other than your wounded pride because she happened to want to kiss  _me_ and not you!" He continued for the silence that elongated alongside Peter's refusal to look at him and the ever growing frown. "Hell, if you were less worried about your pride you would have all of your senses ready to realise that not only you  _never_ liked Juliet that way, but that you are now entirely focused on someone else." Peter finally looked up at him, eyes cautious, yet familiarly startled over even the words that almost immediately resumed the accusation Edmund had attempted. "Or should I try to believe whatever lie you concoct when I confront you about that letter you just wrote or the way you looked at Athena leaving this morning as if she were made of your favourite fruit cake?"

To the surprise of not one of the brothers, Peter's head began to shake. "I didn't—"

"Shut up." Edmund interrupted without even a second thought, making the High King's eyes focus on him and the mask of disbelief twisting his features at once; though even he had to admit the harshness from a couple of moments prior had dissipated enough with the other's silence. "Just stop lying to yourself, stop forcing yourself to be jealous for something you don't even really care about; focus on Athena, and accept you have no say on what I do or not do with Juliet." He paused. "It's as easy as that, really."

And maybe it could be; after all, his pursue of Athena's favour had been the very first thing Peter had been glad of the moment Juliet's refusal had befallen into his mind for more than the young rage he had played the second she had denied him. Yet there he was, nearly smiling for the truth that he thought he had been successful in hiding his affections for the noble warrior that had departed that morning alongside his sister, and having it all be thrown in his direction like the good argument it was; of course he didn't care about Edmund and Juliet: it had not been the who of the situation that had had him so upset the night before. Not really... not when he truly put his mind into thinking truthfully about it. "I do care." He began at last, forcing his eyes to look in his brother's direction and lacking any speck of surprise the moment Edmund's echoes of frustration tooted through the Magnificent room. "Will you just let me finish talking?" He then requested, the smile from the small realisation he had had unable to disappear for the amusement the familiar and long unused frustration of his brother's when dealing with him had brought; thankfully, the small patience Edmund had begun forcing himself to learn for years in the name of the very duties of head of Justice, allowed him to shut up and the stoic mirror of attention take home onto his face before he simply crossed his arms upon his chest. "Thank you." Peter allowed before finally setting himself to confess what came at the very depth of the anger—aside from just how long he had been looking for the other— he had felt the previous night. "I  _do_  care," he repeated, noting the short raise of Edmund's brow before he finally continued with his thought. "Not about the fact that you were  _kissing_ at all, that much you're right on, but..." He paused, the frown returning for the very worry he was shortly to confess upon. "What if she breaks your heart, Ed?" He wondered. "She  _did_  say no to me, and it was a relief, because as you say, I felt nothing more than amity for her, but you  _are_ kissing her, and that is much more than friendship; she  _could_ break your heart or say no if—"

"So what if she does?" Edmund interrupted regardless of the twisting of his heart at the very thought of the time limit now unknowingly spoken through his brother's lips, because he finally understood the other's intention for the sake of his words: Peter was, as ever, trying to take the role of dad, trying to take everything into his own hands and into his control in one way or another regardless of how it later would turn into a mess for his lack of accepting help. "Isn't that  _my_  problem to handle?" He wondered, keeping his gaze on him for the sake of the tranquillity he attempted to convey. "Isn't something like a heartbreak something I'm supposed to deal with and learn from on my own?"

Peter's jaw locked as the single realisation of another sibling's independence befell him unexpectedly instead of finally. "Ed..." after all, if being royalty had done anything for the Pevensies, it had been to allow them to grow perhaps faster than they ever should have. And now... well, Edmund was right: Peter could worry all he wanted, but if Juliet Capulet broke his heart, it would not be something Peter himself would have or could come to fix.

Indeed, it  _was_  as simple as that.

But Edmund would not let him keep talking for the single familiarity he held with the High King; after all, he had seen that worried expression across his features for longer than the blond near him had even thought of carrying a crown. "No, just stop it, okay?" He said with the very support he attempted; the understanding, the very things that should make him aware of just how much he had learnt, changed, and grown. "I  _understand_  wanting to protect me, Pete, but I'm not ten anymore;" He said for it as his arms fell from their crossing so the calm could be as well expressed as he attempted. "I've long known how to think for myself, so let me worry about my broken heart if it comes to that, and say no more, will you?" He requested. "Or if you  _do_  want to say anything, then at least be glad that I have something like... whatever this thing with Juliet is going on in my life."

For it, the smile across Peter's lips returned;  _whatever this thing is_ ; more patient and just, indeed, but at least the familiarity of  _some_ of Edmund's immaturity remained. "Of course I'm glad." He finally told him, pushing himself from the short lean against his desk he hadn't even realised he'd allowed so that he could walk the short distance to his brother for the sake of the newfound tranquillity of the conversation. "If anything, I'm glad it's you she's decided to snog." He confessed. "At least it's someone I trust." He paused again. "But if  _you_ break her heart, I'm sure you'll have  _her_ and her new daggers to deal with, but also me... and most probably Lucy."

At least both brothers now finally smiled. "Right, which is why you need to keep this to yourself;" the youngest king almost immediately requested, swatting away Peter's supportive yet equally teasing gestures before continuing. "It's no one's business, anyway, and both Juliet and I have agreed to be discreet."

Of course, the smile across Peter's lips returned for the single request. "Don't worry; it's not my secret to tell." He agreed, but no sooner had his words been acknowledged by his brother that one of his hands lifted to ruffle the other's head with the affection they had learnt to allow since his rescue from the Witch's grasp. "Awww, my little brother's got a secret romance."

A single statement that, for Edmund, easily marked the end of the conversation as he moved away from the unwanted jest and swatted at Peter's hands once again with a short echo of his discomfort. "Stop that." He demanded; fighting against the smile of his own before he forced himself to bring the whole thing to an end. "I'll go keep watch for any messages from Susan or Athena." He finalised, ignoring Peter's short echoes of laughter. "Just stay out of my business with Juliet, okay? For all I know this whole thing will blow over soon anyway, and you'll have gotten your knickers in a twist for nothing."

But even as he turned around to walk away from what had turned into a better understanding along the two Kings, Edmund knew within the deepest parts of that stubborn heart of his, that such a blind expectation was the furthest thing from the truth.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTE:** This is more of a thank you than a note, but given that this is the first chapter to fully merge with Jas' Helpless fanfic, it is necessary to make known that the second half of this chapter was fully based on her second 'Real Life' chapter, thus all dialogue was written or based off of hers. I must thank her here and everywhere for allowing me to incorporate her characters and story into mine, for it has truly given my story a life I had not even thought of to give it, and it is all thanks to her. So if you like what you see here, I recommend you go to indigogalaxyjas on Wattpad and leave comments on her story, for without it, Auric would be nothing more than a romance without deeper plot. Thus, thank you, Jas, for everything, I owe you so much and I never will be able to repay it.

─ ♚ ─

With the passing days and the continuous letters from Athena to the palace to allow them to keep tabs on the entirety of the dire Ettinsmoor situation, not one of the people in the private royal wing of Cair Paravel had had time for anything personal; after all, while the trip to Ettinsmoor continued, and, by Athena's masked account of friendship (in the case anyone intercepted her letters) everyone learnt of the near peaceful passage into the giant-filled country, Lucy had had to keep to her letters and meetings with ally creatures of Narnia, Edmund had to find himself much busier than usual with matters of justice alongside his watch for messengers or letters, and Peter had found himself training unstoppably and dealing with other royal matters for the sake of his own distraction: lest his continuous preoccupation over his sister bring upon an unstoppable sense of duty that forbid him to think the way a king should and therefore sent him on his way to ruin everything in the name of family. Even Juliet had not had enough time to worry about personal insecurities or situations in any other time than the middle of the night; for Lucy kept her occupied, and her own duties as Head of Household drove her from one end of the palace to the other with orders for the servants or the daily arrangements for the peace of the place; not to mention the daily meetings, which kept her and all those nobles who needed it, for the sake of their jobs and posts, informed on the goings on of Susan Pevensie and Athena Ashdown day by day, as they were, lit by the early rising sun before any thought of breakfast came onto the noble court, and planted by the familiar and hardy voice of the High King to set their minds to peace.  _"Tension has arisen, and I dare not hope for the best."_ Her latest letter said, bringing the very tension that she claimed where she rested to suddenly rest on Peter's shoulders and float above all their heads like an unwanted raincloud which had only left Juliet personally worried for the friendship she had grown to have with the marchioness.  _"May Aslan's will bring us all back home; though if it will not, I still wish your Majesty a very happy birthday."_ No one liked it; not even for the gentle reminder of the day's celebration, or the light mask of coy Lady friendship she had to pretend onto for the sake of anyone who might hijack her letters. Everyone attempted to be glad for the High King's twentieth birthday, but everyone was instead worried for the very tension the marchioness had declared.

Still, the celebrations continued, with outer Narnian nobles and people from the city alongside nearby villages, all smiling and dancing for the blissful ignorance of the broken alliance now hiding in one of Peter's drawers while the rest of the nobles attempted to pretend not being on guard for any messages arriving to the High King in and during the celebration; the concern was so much, in fact, that not one person in that great hall would have been able to tell what outcome everyone hoped for: to get a letter, or to not get one. Whatever the expectations, no letter came, and even the small instances of personal matters (such as Peter's concern for his sister and Athena, or Edmund managing to request a couple of dances with Juliet regardless of her continuous distance over their lack of time so he could explain and make everything better) split apart into a sense of wariness by the time the day came to an end; but it was the next morning when everything would change, when no daily instance of another letter could be read by the High King and thus left everyone much more preoccupied than if it had. After all, not one day since the Queen's departure had gone without a letter from Athena, whether in her innocent pretence of companionship, or the seriousness of the tension she had claimed on the last parchment; thus, to have no word now, whether good or bad, only made everyone in that round table of nobles, Kings, and Queen, find the worry from the night prior doubled so that any little bit of action was meat by jumpiness or even foolish hope. Lucy reluctantly left to her meetings, Edmund stoically took double shift on the caring of the castle and watching for any possible message to come, and Peter could do no more than pace the length of his room for hours on end by not only the expectancy of a letter and worry onto his peaceful sister, but his forbidden personal worry onto the very warrior that had made him wish he were not a king and he could follow his heart for the sake of hers.

And so that day passed as well, with the halls silent, the tension trembling like echoes of wariness along the halls to be broken only when the night came and the nightmares began to claim the royals' heads; from Peter, who awoke with a shriek of horror upon seeing his sister's body cold and dead, bleeding on the palace floor, shadowed by the silhouette of an Etins rebel holding a sword right above their head; to Edmund, who awoke from yet another bloody nightmare where  _he_ was the reason all his family lay dead on the grounds of Cair Paravel. Needless to say, not much sleep was found that night, and nothing more than a gentle game of chess between both kings could keep them calm enough until the morning came and the dreadful feeling of concern returned when the activities of the day began and no letter came once again; two days since his birthday celebration, and no word.

Something had to be wrong.

At least that was the thought in everyone's mind when the evidence of absolutely no word from the travelling Queen or her secret army resounded in the castle; in fact, there was silence. Nothing but the echo of everyone's concern as the joy of any other day turned to the mere dread of that one as they all went through their daily duties. Lucy barely smiled as she left for her luncheon with the dryads, and neither King could be seen doing anything more than gazing out the windows with a frown, or pacing through the halls of Cair Paravel regardless of their duties; in truth, everyone seemed to be getting ready for the worst news, and that alone was enough to make everyone jumpy whether it was a person or a tiny mouse crossing the halls of the castle. It was thus, indeed, the reason Juliet Capulet's magically beating heart nearly stopped when she collided with a pacing Edmund at the end of the Western Wing; the single basket of towels she carried fluttering all around them until they found peace upon the floor; both teens exclaimed their surprise before they began attempting to help each other, but it was upon realising who it was they had disturbed that both of them seemed to lose their words. After all, the worry of the last few days had kept them so occupied that the only true interaction between the two had been the dances at Peter's birthday celebration; dances which she had kept distant enough to seem friendly; and for all Juliet knew, Peter, regardless of worried-driven orders to make sure the infirmary was ready for any coming wounded (part of everyone's expectation of the worst of prospects), remained unhappy over the interrupted affection between her and his brother. Thus, it was no surprise at all that the gentle Protector had all but avoided taking to the Just King for the sake of her saddened beating heart as the echo of that first query upon the beginning of their romance repeated within an endless loop:  _what have we done?_

It was nothing wrong, of course, she knew that well enough; but did she, young Juliet of house Capulet, protector of Love, and one who was meant to be involved in romance nevermore, dare bring any sort of strife between two brothers when it was simply unnecessary? Was the venture of young and impossible infatuation worth such pointless strife? No; of course not. Not even if her heart felt like a million pieces breaking like glass onto the floor at the thought of never kissing those lips again, not even if the mere presence of him seemed to make her feel double the dread she had felt that morning over the possibility of losing the happiness that had made her feel something she had not in more than a millennia, if one was to count the likeness of time in Narnia; not even if—"Hi." He said, dragging both of them from the torture of thoughts that had kept them quiet and simply staring at each other for a couple of moments. There she was, not but a second prior willing and ready to let go of something so wonderful for the sake of avoiding strife, and a single two letter word made her wish she could never part from him again.  _Oh, Juliet, Juliet: hast thou leant nothing?_ "I—I've been meaning to talk to you, but things—"

"Aye." She interrupted, finally letting go of his arms, which she hadn't truly even noticed she had been holding on to until that moment, so she could force herself to focus on the towels spread along the floor instead of him;  _god give me strength._ "We are all worried, your majesty; thus, pray, there is no need to explain. I have lost enough sleep, alike thee I am sure, for the wellbeing of Queen Susan and those who accompanied her." She paused, forcing herself to avoid looking in his direction regardless of the heaviness of his gaze on her; and of course he would when the formality of her words could possibly hit him like the millionth punch to the stomach compared to the dreaded hunger for a kiss from her lips. "I was barely on my way to help dressing the third infirmary when  _this_  ha—"

"This?" The king echoed, moving to pick up a couple of towels for the sake of making her look at him even once; anything but the low glances avoiding of his eyes, anything to shut the annoying need he had of her. "Is that what I've become to you now; just an inconvenience in your day?" For once, he didn't even try to mask the gentle newfound hurt along his voice; after all, how could he hide something he had never felt before? Was such a thing the very heartbreak Peter had warned him about?

But that hurt became enough for the ember of her eyes to finally lift and look at him, quieting the very need he had felt for the familiarity of her gaze; even if it was as sad as he felt, even if he could see a sort of pleading of understanding falling from the sorrow within the gold, brown, and green shades in those irises; even as her head shook in that soft familiar way that made the tips of her partly loose hair dance. "May, that I would say too much, but nay, sir, thou couldst never be an inconvenience," She admitted, placing the few towels she had picked from the ground upon the basket, much less tidy than when she had been carrying them before. "Not thee, not now," She gulped, her eyes dancing on his, as if she could find the strength to do what her mind told her she should. "Ne'er, I believe, after the joy thou hast given me: not ever."

Oh, what a way with words she had; it was the sound of a voice he had missed, though not the warmth, for her speech, regardless of its brevity or the confession of her happiness, left alike the rest of her words to him had for the past few days: empty, cold... noble. "Fine, then:" he began, barely a pause regarding of the nuisance their distance had become; a nuisance he had been able to avoid acknowledging for the truth of the horrors happening around them. "Can I kiss you?" After all, what a better way of dealing quickly with an issue than hitting the nail head on? If his heart had to be broken, then let it be done already, let him hurt, place the wound with one stroke instead of a torturous draw.

But of course, at the request—which did, indeed, ask for something Juliet herself ached for—the young Protector's eyes widened and hastily searched for any prying person anywhere near; though for the silence of the castle, it was safe to assume everyone was hidden away within one room or another: compared to the worries in everyone's minds, no one cared about the two who spoke upon that moment. "Nay, keep thy voice down, I beg." She requested regardless, snatching the towels from his hands and placing them within the basket before carrying it once again; her gentle displeasure appearing within the comfort of a frown. "Lest someone hear thee and word begins to spread." With a single movement, she positioned the basket against her hip, and, for once, what little strength she had helped enough to keep her from losing her grip as she continued to speak, barely more that the short pause so that even the great witty king could have no word to interrupt her. "For aye, sir, thou hast given me such joy, one that I'll be ever grateful for, one, I heartily confess—even if my young devotion make'th me sound too sure—, that I shall perhaps dream of, may God give me such say; but even thus couldst ne'er make me proud of strife placed between thee and thy royal brother. Not when I hold thee both dearly in my heart, even if differently, and—pray, wherefore dost thou laugh? Have I said something funny?"

Indeed, the young king had begun his expression with nothing more than a single smile that eventually  _did_ break into the gentle breath of laughter from which the other complained; and it had only begun with the reality of the other's misconception (and the fact that he had even  _deduced_ it would be there in the first place) of something he hadn't even had time to explain to her: "I'm laughing because Peter should be the one apologising to you, and yet here you are." He paused, noting the other's curious frown and the familiar nervous way her hands tightened on the basket the way they would have done on the folds of her skirt if they'd been free; clearly she didn't understand. "Look, there's no  _strife_ between us," He told her, wishing, for the sake of his selfish heart, that he had  _made_ time to talk to her regardless of the concern that had otherwise occupied his day; perhaps, if he had, then he would have been able to find some sort of comfort with Juliet by the distraction of her blessed intonations and craved lips instead of pacing the confines of his room, writing angry letters, or playing games of chess with his brother that he'd always win. "He was mostly angry because of what had happened and how I'd gone missing, but he's not actually angry about..." He smiled again, though more for something as easy as the first admission that shortly followed than anything else. "...Well, about  _us_."

The confession alone should have brought a smile to the girl's lips, but her expectations of dread for Queen Susan and Athena, and the ones for her own happiness, were enough to keep her frown across her forehead instead; after all, yes, it was the first time her  _or_  Edmund truly referred to each other as an  _us,_ but the possibility that she did not have to give up the very thing that had brought her so much joy for the past few months yet was something she had not at all calculated regardless of how much she wished for its very continuance. So to hear it so plainly put in the words of he who she now thought of as her lover... well, as the first piece of good news in the past week, it seemed almost unreal. "He wasn't?" She wondered, her eyes dancing on his again, though, this time, almost as if she were waiting for the confirmation that she had understood wrong, that she did have to give everything up, that their time limit had finally come.

But still, Edmund's head shook, glad of his own thoughts and assurance for once. "He thought he did, but I talked to him and it turns out he doesn't care about  _who_  it is I kiss at all, but the fact that I'm doing it in the first place." His eyes rolled; almost as if the thought alone were silly; and, well, when put in his mind, it could become such. After all, who, other than Peter, could make a romance that was not his at all so concerning as he had made the possibility of a broken heart when Edmund and his still self-blaming treachery had more of a chance of breaking Juliet's heart himself? "It's an overprotective brother thing." He confessed; not annoyed as he perhaps once upon a time might have sounded, but anyone could say even empathetic; thankful. "You should have heard what he said to me at the thought of me hurting you." He continued almost without pause. "You've only known him six and a half years and he's already like that with you, so you can only imagine how he's with the rest of us." Indeed, he even smiled; but it was that confession that broke Juliet from her disbelief and finally allowed her brows to raise in surprise; after all, she knew her affection for the High King was high enough to call him a sort of brother she had never had, but to think  _he_  would be even concerned enough for her well being to threaten his brother? Well, the thought never would have arisen; not even in her wildest dreams; not even when Aslan himself had told her she had become an important part of their lives. It was simply difficult to when the only true protection or love she had had in her existence had been from an old woman who grew to love her merely because she had been paid to at first (as had been her blessed nurse), and a man who, in the end, had driven a dagger through her heart (the irony that she now held daggers close to herself at all times was not lost on her); thus, to suddenly have people who were not either paid, or forced, or had to pretend to care about her like her High Protectors did, was not something she could easily accept. And whether it be that, or another concocted reason for her silence in Edmund's mind, he felt nervous enough to speak through it for the only reassurance he could give himself: "He actually told me he was glad it's you," Of course, it had been the other way around,  _I'm glad it's you he's decided to snog; at least it's someone I trust._ But a bit of paraphrasing couldn't be wrongly welcomed. "So if that means anything..."

Oh, it did; without even the realisation that she had hoped for it until the relief arrived, there was a smile lifting the corners of Juliet's lips shortly after; oh mirrors of rarity in a day as gloomy as that. "Aye, it does." She agreed, her posture changing, her voice softening, and every single speck of her disposition becoming welcome by Edmund's otherwise concerned eyes for the familiarity he had so easily grown used to for the months they had been together. "It means we've got his blessing." After all, if the High King's agreement to such a venture had been voiced, then the strife she had feared truly was not there, and though she wished the entirety of her relationship with the youngest King (if there could be any) remained secret, it meant... well, it meant it could go on until the limit she had thought at first: whenever the brown eyed boy of warm heart and just values saw it fit to find someone to marry in the end; someone to make him happy with a life and children, just like he deserved.

But not now; oh, dear god: not now.

"Not that we needed it," He agreed, glad for the distance between them to be broken at once, and yet again regretting not having spoken about it with her sooner so perhaps her lips could have soothed his worries; alas, but at least he had her back. At least there was that. "But, yeah, I guess we do." And he wanted to reach for her; forgo the basket in her hands and just kiss her the way he had wished to do for the past week, simply press her against the wall and kiss her, hold her, give in to every single thought that had made him angry for so long and now only made him hope for her every single day, like the dreamer wishing for the same concoction every night; and he could see it, so did she.

For the familiar smile came onto her lips, trapped and stopped by the biting of her lower lip as her hands tightened once again on the basket she held. "Thus, I am glad," She breathed at once for the single reality that befell her and filled her from the moment he had opened his lips to say a thing. "For it means, my heart, that if thou wish't it so, by mirror of mine mind, then nay'r a thing should change as I had feared, if I am to make my heart so clearly known."

Of course Edmund could do no more than smile within the single echo of a breathed laughter that escaped his lips; ever her way with words, and oh, they were finally wild and free toward him. "Please, do." He took a step toward her, for the invitation for the continuance of their little romantic escapades had finally returned. "Because I  _do_  wish it," He declared: "if you'd still have me, I'd wish it very much."

It was her turn to expel a breathy laugh that trapped her lower lip one more time as a step to match his was taken, and even the basket began to become a nuisance to her. "Thou swearest, my king?" She wondered, playful for the first time in what felt too long, and welcome on the gloom of their worry.

Edmund simply nodded. "I swearest," He said without thinking for the relief and the short welcome joy that having the girl of honey words and star-like eyes back brought him; shortly after, though, with the laugh to match hers, he corrected himself. "I mean, yeah. I swear." He admitted. "I swear."

Oh, the relief felt welcome to the protector's heart, for its selfish intention of having that which she should not for as long as she could. "Then by Aslan's mane," She began, taking yet another step toward him and beginning to even attempt ridding herself of the basket that would stop her from holding him the way she wished to for the near two weeks that had felt much longer than that. "And by Aslan to, I—"

But she had not been able to finish her thought, for the echo of another's voice called loudly down the hallway from which she had come. "King Edmund!" The voice called, followed in motion with the sound of iron against iron form armour breaking their single bubble of much needed happy privacy to bring them back to the very dread that had followed every single person in the otherwise silent castle for the previous two days. "Your majesty!" The voice came again, though much closer, for the guard carrying of the loud words had reached them at last, and any sense of happiness the two teenagers might have had evaporated almost as quickly as it had come, for the sight of the worried guard, with his cheeks pale and the sweat making his skin glisten, was enough to worry them both once again. "They're back, sir." The faun said, his eyes searching King Edmund as much as the frowning Lady who held her basket as tight as she had a moment before; though, this time, it was not for nerves.

"They?!" Edmund nearly yelled, his voice almost breaking for the near forgotten specks of puberty that had long left him, well nearly seventeen year old he was now; his hand immediately going to rest upon the hilt of his sword as the single step he had taken in Juliet's direction immediately changed to be taken in the guard's. "Does Peter know?"

The guard immediately shook his head. "No, your majesty." He announced. "They've come from the Western side; Queen Susan and the General; they've got many injured, sir." He paused merely for the sake of shaken breath. "Queen Lucy is at the dryad luncheon, and the High King is in his quarters, you were the one nearest I could tell, and—"

Edmund immediately shook his head. "Say no more," He easily patted the guard's shoulder. "Get Lord Peridan; tell him to get the rest of the guard to help with the injured; I'll get Peter myself." He turned to Juliet immediately. "Please, Juliet, get those towels to the infirmary, and get down there as soon as you can," His dropped hand finally rested on her soft hand holding of the basket at once. "It sounds bad, and we'll need all the help we can get." It was a voice much softer than the one he had used for the guard, but even then, Juliet knew to listen (she wouldn't have had to be told twice), for as gentle and familiar as that voice was, the way it always was with her, Edmund Pevensie, the heartened teen who wished for her company as much as she wished for his, was gone: King Edmund, The Just, had taken his place.

♦

"Peter," Edmund said, softly at once for the way he had found his brother; not only had he not answered the call to his door, but when he had gone inside, not one single limb had moved or flinched; instead, his eyes remained closed, his back slumped against the wall as he sat on the floor, as if he were a statue of a man ever woeful for his sum in life. "Peter," Edmund called again, slightly louder as he crouched and a hand reached in his brother's direction while his head flicked shortly for the wish of ridding his eyes of the nuisance his scruffy short black hair had become for its growing length."Peter, listen," He requested, finally shaking the other's arm for the sake of his shock (what else could leave Peter so frozen?), and easily welcoming the flutter of his slowly opening lids before he continued. "This is important."

At last, the High King had come to life. "What do you want, Ed?" He wondered, looking in his direction and frowning at what the youngest king could only guess was his clearly exhausted disposition (he  _had_ run all the way from the West wing, after all) before he pulled his arm away from him. "If it's bad news I don't want to hear it."

Instead, what met him was the familiar short and relieved breathed laughter coming from Edmund's lips. "They're back." He easily informed, hoping the news to fall on his brother easier than they had fallen on him; and he would have said more, truly, he expected to announce every speck of the news, but no sooner had his words finished that the High King rose from the ground he'd sat on and sprinted past his brother as if he'd had a canon blast him off; leaving Edmund to have no other choice but call after him with an expectance to wait so the rest of the news could be laid upon him, but he had no luck. If his exhaustion brought by running from the West wing to the North had been enough to floor him, it did not show, for his adrenaline, and the hope of seeing his older sister again, was enough to make him carry through behind the older King until they could both reach the courtyard where the plethora of injured slowly strolled through either by help of their fellow soldiers or carried in a stretcher or a horse. Peter stood almost frozen at the sight, and Edmund... oh, any sense of joy brought by Juliet's return to him evaporated for the amounts of warrior blood tainting not only the courtyard's grass, but his sister's skin.

"Peter!" She called, almost the second they reached the place by the door opposite the one Peridan used to guide injured in. "Ed!" Her feet even carried her, weakly, Edmund noted with dread in his heart, in their direction, all until she could land in Peter's arms in an embrace that only worried the younger King the most; and why shouldn't it, when Lord Peridan yelled orders to the guard to take all the wounded to the infirmaries seconds prior to a single request of a list of those lost. "Where's Lucy?" Susan wondered, bringing Edmund's attention back to the short welcoming not only by her words, but by the way her arms reached for him to pull him into a hug to match the one she had given Peter; one the younger King reciprocated without a doubt.

Oh, he was much gladder than he could even express to see her back; especially when so many seemed to be so horribly injured. "She's at the luncheon with the dryads." He informed her, pausing to look at every one of her injuries the moment the two pulled away from their embrace. "We agreed we should keep to our duties when no word came back, but she'll be back soon."

"Susan, how many do we have left?" Peter quickly wondered, barely a second after Edmund had finished speaking.

After all, his eyes had seen what Edmund's had, what he continued seeing as Lord Peridan now ordered maids (which had had to have been sent by Juliet to help, which hopefully meant she'd begun helping those injured inside by any means she could) with that stern and kind voice of his to help lead way too many injured to the infirmaries on each wing. "About a hundred men" Susan replied, sounding much more hurt than she looked even as she attempted to remove her bow and arrows from her back; one which had only been taken by the Narnian army in case something happened. Clearly something horrible had. "Some are injured beyond repair, and..." Susan had to gulp, holding onto Ed for support for being the one closer to her height. "the Ettins took prisoners, Peter." She informed. "Maybe ten, maybe fifteen, we can't be sure. But a good seventy of our soldiers didn't make it at all."

Oh, it had been so much worse than he had imagined; even the worry in the face of the guard who had informed him of the news couldn't have prepared him for what lay in front of him: people crying, friends helping friends head inside Cair Paravel for the sake of their wounds, Lord Peridan speaking to the guard remaining in the courtyard to gather all the names of the lost so they could inform the families. It was war, it was the very thing the youngest of the Kings had seen after the battle with the Witch, and if his nightmares were not enough, if the echo of women's and men's tears were not enough to floor him, if even the disappearance of Peridan into the castle after the last of the injured had passed through was not enough to remind him too much of the horrors from all those years prior, then the loud echo that broke him from his reverie certainly was: "WHERE IS SHE!?" It was Peter, whose voice had echoed so loud that every single person left in the courtyard shifted to look in his direction; every crying creature who had lost someone already confirmed, every maid who had begun taking all the bloodied rags many injured had abandoned in their wake. Edmund's own mindful horror had made him miss a bit of the conversation his siblings had been having.

"I don't know." One which Susan replied to with the gentle echo of near beggary while the Just King wondered one of the questions that had already been answered while the echoes of his past tooted within his mind loud enough to silence everything else: what happened? "But I'm telling you, there would be  _twice_ as many dead if it weren't for her quick mind." The Queen continued, clutching her bow so tightly even her knuckles went white. "It was her who realised the Ettins would attack at all, it was her who planned the attack that saved so many of us, but..." her head shook; finally all sense of composure lost with the release of the tears she had to have been holding back for the sake of those injured who had followed her back home. "But we lost her, Peter." She nearly sobbed; nearly, for the sake of the few people who remained in the now green and red grass of the courtyard. "The attack worked, but the counter attack did not, and we  _lost."_

Lost... they were talking about Athena; Lady Athena Ashdown; the girl who had become his best friend from the moment she had been able to floor him upon a blade's dance, the girl who had teased him endlessly when he'd confessed to having any sort of emotion for anyone that wasn't himself, the girl who'd become like a third sister to him in so short a time. "Is she dead?" Edmund voiced because of it, every single memory of her thrashing within his mind with enough swiftness to make his shoulders drop in desperation and his eyes dance on his sister's for the sake of the single speck of hope he held; after all, when the guard had come to him claiming the Queen and the General had returned, part of him had immediately assumed the general spoken of had been Athena. But it had been Orius  _without_ Athena: the General of the Narnian army  _without_ the General of the militia.

But that little hope he held did not quickly die by the response brought from the Gentle Queen's lips. "I can't say." She said against the soft echo of her tears, placing a hand on Peter's arm, who had flinched at the news as much as if she had confirmed the fear of the warrior marchioness' demise. "Not all of her company returned," she continued, speaking to Edmund, who had been the one to ask the question at all. "Some did, but either they're the ones with the worst injuries, or..." She had to gulp again, for the tears she now forced to be held back left a knot in the middle of her throat she needed clearing, but could not; for she had felt their pain: their people's pain, when everything that had been planned onto the peaceful marriage alliance had been thrown back to them with blows, swords, and arrows; she had seen their blood fall regardless of how she hadn't wished to be in another war, she had thrown her own arrows against those who had spat away her offered peace, and she had the scars to prove it. "...or they're the ones who did not survive the journey back." Oh, she shouldn't cry, but there she was, the Mother of the country, releasing silent tears in the short privacy shared with her siblings for the sake of her own sanity: they understood; they had to, for they loved the Narnians as much as she. "I'm sorry."

But it wasn't her fault; the counted people left in the courtyard knew it, Peter knew it—even as he moved to pace his despair away—, Edmund knew it as he moved to support the weight of his exhausted sister once again, but still, Susan's near defeat against his hold spoke the truth: she felt it had been her fault. After all, it had been her idea to propose a peaceful alliance at all; it had been her hand she had offered in marriage to the one who would be King of Ettinsmoor, she had been the one, according to what little Edmund  _had_ been able to hear, that had not noticed enough to know the Ettins would attack and make the army that had secretly followed her to be put to use. But, oh, it wasn't her fault; Edmund wanted to say that, it wasn't, but how could he, when his own siblings whispered reassurance in his direction when needed yet he still felt the pain of his treachery searing a branded arrow against his chest  _it is my fault, it is my fault,_ and nothing anyone could say could make him think otherwise; he wanted to speak and comfort her, but that was not something he knew how to do other than by being her physical support, not when it was Peter who always knew what to say. "Prepare our finest knights." He said, proving Edmund right for the millionth time: he truly did always know what to say; not that he'd admit such a thing out loud.

For those words alone made everyone left in the courtyard look up, in the direction of their High King, regardless of how he could only look at Edmund upon his request and thereafter looked to General Orius, who exited Cair Paravel for a speck of breath after helping as many as he could to get to the infirmaries along everyone else. "We must have every Lord on our side," Peter continued, his hands shifting into fists for the sake of the anger he suddenly carried; which, if Edmund could have a guess onto the inspiration for it, he'd place a single name of a warrior Marchioness on the table. "Notify Lord Peridan of my actions, and make sure he is suited for a hunt with Edmund and me tomorrow." It was the purpose carried in that single name, thus bursting with meaning for Peter himself, that Edmund finally understood and easily agreed with; the only soon after mentioned by Peter himself. "We're going to find Lady Athena," he vowed, gaining a single nod from Edmund himself, and Orius, who almost immediately bowed the way centaurs did. "We're going to bring her home."

He had been stolen on his best friend; he had been stolen from one wonderful thing just as another one returned to his life; and call him selfish, call him proud, but he would do everything in his power to be able to have  _both_ ; indeed, they would search for Athena for as long as they had to, because he  _would_ have his best friend back, and he would make anyone who had dared to hurt her  _pay_ for even thinking of doing so, he would make them  _regret_ ever getting on the bad side of the Just King.


	25. Chapter 25

─ ♚ ─

"Guilty." The single word echoed around the once silent hall merely seconds before the gasps broke the stillness and the murmurs began; as if the tension of the previous two months had not been enough, as if the disappearance of the militia's general had not been enough, as if the announcement that morning had not been enough, now the people in the Court of Justice of Cair Paravel could do no more than whisper within the echoes of the single verdict against the innocence of the young boy standing in the middle of the room with his little hands—scarred over the fire that had killed his parents—clasped in a grip that made his knuckles go white, his eyes closed, and the tears that fell against his cheeks silent. It seemed simply too much with everything that had happened even only that morning, thus the murmurs continued; and, in truth, Juliet, who so solemnly and against all agreements spoken sat upon the furthest bench of the observing audience, didn't understand it; not for the person who delivered the single word or the frown that rested in the middle of his forehead even as he wrote down the very verdict that had so shaken the room in its entirety, the last note to make the conviction final.

Edmund; the young man of a hidden gentle heart and kindness who had so held her and kissed her, who she had comforted as needed during near every night of those two months within which he was not, yet again, in search of the lost Marchioness of the Great Delta, the one person in the entirety of that Justice Hall that could understand the crimes of a ten year old much better than anyone else; he was the only one the young Protector could focus on as the beginning of the sentencing for the verdict given began: for the single word that had stolen a young child of ten from his freedom had fallen from Edmund's lips, as any verdict ever fell within that single court. Head of Justice that the Just King was, indeed, and this time, above all others, due to the situation, the announcement that morning, and the counted things he had even told her of what it had been like to be pawn to the evil that perturbed Narnia so long before, the entire moment felt much more disturbing to her than to all those others who looked and remained within the echo of whispers.  _How could he?_  She wondered, her eyes refusing to fall even the moment his own lifted to look in her direction, not for more than a second, yet long enough for his own displeasure at her presence in the hall to be clear enough alike her own at the very word he had spoken; a word which had brought the murmurs that made the sentencing nearly impossible to hear and continued against the hall's walls for a while long enough for it to become less obvious for everyone else when she stood from the onlooker benches with the single screech of the old wood and made her way towards the one ever open door within; one which led to the lower levels of the gardens, and thus allowed her the most scenic route to the Western wing.

 _How could he?_  It was almost the only thing she could think of as the sound of her steps on the familiar grass echoed around her, as the waves of the near ocean crashed against the nearby rocks, as the birds sang their twilight songs, and the brightness of the sun dimmed enough that she could look almost directly into it without having to squint too much. The only thing that had troubled her all day was the one piece of news that had to be in the minds of every single noble and royal within the castle; the one that explained the gloom cast across the Pevensies' eyes upon that morning's breakfast and thus dimmed the colour of her surroundings for the sorrow it had brought; the single truth that for two months had been avoided for the sense of hope but had thus been abandoned that morning: the search for Athena Ashdown was no more, for the truth was written plainly by their inability to find her as was written in red across the clouds of that near-night's sky: the Marchioness was, as of that horrid morning, officially pronounced dead. Yet there Juliet was, nearing the familiarity of the Western wing and stepping within its cool confines with the cool breeze of the nearing summer playing with her hair as she went, and not only her newly-claimed-dead friend rested in her troubled mind, but the child whose future had disappeared by a single word spoken through the lips of someone she held with such high affections; after all, by the single verdict, the orphaned child of ten had been killed so the man could be born, and against the very justice claimed, it did not seem fair.

Enough people had died that day.

But still, her steps echoed within the halls of the familiar wing until they could lead her to the library she had been fully allowed to disappear within for the past half a year for the sake of any romantic escapades she and the owner of said library willed; though, sure, her escapade at that moment did not at all carry romantic intentions, nor should she allow it for the truth that the very subject of her discomfort was sure to barge in at any moment, but she knew as well as Edmund himself that their library was the only place within the entirety of the castle (other than his chambers, and she dared not go within without him) that was off bounds to anyone else, thus the only place she truly wanted to be within upon that moment. After all, there weren't even any guards set outside that library unless he was within, which allowed them, in lighter moments, to be able to spend time together without anyone knowing it; and allowed her, within her sorrow-filled bubble of misery created that very morning, to easily slip inside without even fully opening the door for the ease and comfort of the familiarity of the library she had raided for longer than it had been known to the King and was now a private home to them both. Oh lighter days that had led her there, which had made the light from the windows seem brighter, the mess on the floors of the library seem inviting, and even the painting of Aslan above the fireplace seem much more colourful than it did that evening; instead everything was dark, tainted orange or blue by the slowly dimming sunlight or the shadows within, and each step Juliet took made her feel heavier and heavier, each breath thicker, each blink more necessary against the waterworks she wanted to avoid for once; as if she needed to allow her body the moment to sit down with her own thoughts and feelings that she had not taken even from the moment the marchioness' claimed death had been announced, as if the single announcement had not been enough to her heart, and the disappearance of innocence, yet another child broken by the treacheries of time, had doubled her mourning entirely, as if she had even known the punished child at all.

When the truth was, she did not know him, nor the life he had had before, nor the family he had lost that had led to his inability to provide for the baby brother who had died suffocated by his hands and had thus led him to whatever sentence she had barely even heard be delivered within that hall; but that innocence he might have had before the fire that had claimed his family and the youth of his hands... was gone, just like Athena, her sword-master, her friend; it was all gone, and nothing she could do could make any of it any easier, and for the first time that day, she felt like it was all too much. So she allowed it: without leaving herself more thought, after her fingers had so softly passed in a mindless grace against the keys of the single piano that rested deeper into the library, Juliet Capulet allowed herself to cry, sitting upon the bench set before the instrument, and finding her frame lowering against the keys regardless of the loud echo of mismatched tones that her weight allowed on the piano. She cried for the child she had seen sentenced, yes, but he was no more than the face of her losses, for the loss of Athena Ashdown, for the loss of her Nurse, the loss of her family, and even, within a part she loathed more than any other, the loss of Romeo himself. Had she ever allowed herself to cry for all of them? Could Athena's pronounced death be the final drop to spill the water of her sorrows onto the earth for the truth that the young Protector had been much too busy since her death to allow her tears to have more meaning? After all, before Narnia had been created, all she had had was darkness, emptiness, nothing. A single nothingness within which she could not even hear the echo of her screams, or feel the tears that she willed to fall against her cheeks, nor feel her heart breaking the way it would have had if Romeo Montague hadn't split it in two with his dagger; indeed, what allowance of sorrow could she have when her first centuries in Narnia had been spent in fear, thinking she would be taken away by the High Protectors, thinking she would be taken away from a second chance at life and put back into the emptiness of before, somewhere she couldn't feel, hear, speak... only think, and try to do all others until the exhaustion of her attempts made her stop, and the nothingness took over her once again. So she hadn't allowed herself to cry, not for them, not until the name of the friend she had been getting ever closer to joined the ranks of the dead; until her name, so soft within the courage of her heart, echoed beside Isabella Capuletti's, oh Lady Mother that never truly appreciated Juliet as she should have; echoed against the thought of Nurse, the  _real_ Nurse, the one who had brought her up, held her, comforted her, not the Love's Protector that had taken her face. Oh, her losses mounted up high until even the tears from that moment were not enough to claim them, for there was Isabella and Franco, her mother and father, there was her beloved lively Nurse, who had been more a mother than the one who had birthed her, there was Tybalt, her cousin, there was Romeo, a man who had shown her the meaning of love but thereafter shattered it by the necessity of power and immortality, and there was Athena Ashdown, the one who had understood her in her sense of disbelief, her sense that, no matter how hard she tried, she never truly belonged in Narnia, not until she was welcome by the Pevensies, not until Aslan himself had confessed his own choice to create his world where she had once rested, not until Lucy claimed her friendship to be the most welcome, not until Edmund confessed his truths onto her, nut until Athena herself asked her for help that emotion-filled night when she had naught known how to manage her own ribbons; Athena had understood, she had smiled, she had joked, teased, and taught her, she had become a friend, a wonderful friend who now Juliet was robbed of, for the simplicity of death. Oh death that would never touch her but could touch everyone else; a death that reached warriors and innocents alike, as it would be upon the ten year old child convicted that evening, oh death that had already taken his innocence away.

It was not fair, none of it was; for why should Juliet survive when all could not, why should she be allowed to see the suffering of others, as close to her as Athena and as strange to her as the child convicted, without suffering any of it herself? Not but their loss, which one day would feel distant like their names; what right did she have, oh protector of love, to live longer than all others, to remain when those she loved and cared for would leave her behind? Now that she could think of it, now that she could even curse her knowledge of immortality for the single time she had died within that world, frozen and forgotten in a cave while the great Witch of Narnia brought the eternal winter; after all, she had felt her magical heart stop, she had felt the cold turn into warmth, she had spoken to Nurse, and she had sent her back: back into the cold of that cave from which snow had begun to melt, back into her gifted magical life, back into the wonderful world she now loved. She hadn't had any friends, she hadn't been anything more than a legend to the creatures of the world, but now it had all changed; she had friends, she had a family, she had Edmund, she had had Athena. Now... oh, horrid now, she could lose them all, one by one, and curse the immortality that held her heart, and only Athena's death could have made her aware of it, only something as horrible as that could have brought the truth into her mind. What else could it have been, when blissful ignorance had been hers which did not think much further than her present as she always had; oh, why; evermore, why?

It was that very question that echoed in the depths of her mind by the time the sound of steps came, and her composure had to be regained; for the Pevensies had comforted her enough, and even the single echo of her name spoken through the familiar voice of the Just King was not enough to allow her the continuance of her tears, not when, in truth, Athena Ashdown had been a better and closer friend to him than her; but of course, her movements made the keys she rested on sound again, and her location be entirely displayed. Her hands wiped at the tears fallen, enough so by the time the young King stepped into the part of the library where she was, she was rising from the small bench with red eyes and long wet lashes; still, she smiled, because regardless of everything she had lost, there was also something she had gained, and that was Edmund's affections, something she never would have even imagined she would or be allowed to have. "I thought we had agreed that you were not coming to today's trial." Edmund greeted, ridding himself of his sword belt and cloak even through the smile that he replied onto hers as much as on his lips as the familiar brown eyes that looked at her.

Juliet nodded, keeping her eyes on him, and finding strength enough to clear her throat so she could speak in turn. "Aye; I do believe we did." She walked in his direction, willing to place a single kiss upon his lips for the truth that she simply could; oh allowances of romance, oh joy in a the darkness of their reality.

It was a kiss evidently as welcome by him as needed by both of them, and one that Edmund found a small speck of peace in as he finally moved to take her hand with hopes of leading her to the familiar couch near the piano where she had rested. "And yet, you did." He continued, his eyes narrowing with strong intent in contrast of the smile carrying onto his lips; not but a grin saved only for her, for she was the only one who could ever bring it out of him.

A fact she was very much aware of, "And yet, I did." She agreed, refusing to let go of him even as she sat upon the couch and thereafter found comfort in the nearness of the other's frame, by holding one hand with both of hers whilst looking down at them, managing to say no more within a feat so rare of her that even Edmund would have been able to note the difference a year prior, when he had not been so attuned to her and her ways like he was now.

"You're angry." He told her, more a fact than a question as his eyes studied the familiarity of the Lady's features whilst she refused to look at his, not but holding of his hand whilst he studied every speck of her as if he had never done so before, noting the wetness of her lashes, the redness of her cheeks, which only truly showed upon embarrassment, sorrow, or rage. Her silence could do no more than confirm the single statement he had allowed her, "You don't agree with my verdict."

At last, Juliet moved, her eyes lifting to look into his with enough heaviness that the beloved amber of her irises seemed heavier and more liquid than usual. "Nay, I agree, for the truth is thus, he  _did_ kill his brother." It had never been the truth spoken that had discomforted her.

"But..." Edmund prompted, because yes, indeed, there was a but; and it was clear for the loaded silence that remained after her words and the single disappearance of her smile to be replaced by the short shadow of a frown.

Granted, the furrowed brow came as much from the sorrow in her heart as the near total darkness of the room, which made her realise, the way she had not before, that night had fully fallen around them: she had cried for at least an hour or two before the familiar voice had called her back to the present. "But..." She allowed, looking back at Edmund and feeling her hands free his only for the gentle grace she wished to place upon the skin of his cheek before she rose from the seat with the single hopes of lighting more than the single candle ever resting near that windowsill before the true darkness of the night wrapped everything around them and even she could see him no more. "I fail to see—as I claim thy counsellors might have done, if I may judge by their reactions to thy verdict—the reason for which you should punish a child when it is so very clear mercy be all to cross his mind by the murder of that baby."

A single match lit echoed in the silence of the library after Juliet's words, coming to flaming life by the yellow tint of light it gave the room even by its little form; but still, Edmund spoke. "How can you say such a thing when he seemed sorrier to have gotten caught than to have done it?" He wondered, finally frowning alike she had been, and finding will enough to lean back against the couch's backrest, yet refusing to look anywhere but moving Juliet. "Kids can be worse than adults, Juliet; I know that better than anyone."

Well Head of Household that Juliet was, moving expertly along the nearing candles, and even managing to use the piano's bench to reach upward high enough to light the candles on the chandelier hanging above their heads. "I know it." She countered, managing to look only at her chosen task instead of him below her. "But even knowing thus, I think: how canst thou think the deed be done by anything other than mercy?" It was a single question that only resulted in a soft scoff from Edmund's lips, yet refused to become anything else for Juliet's quick continuing words. "For by thy much admired need to be thorough, I know thou hast seen the little corpse, therefore, if I know it so will thee:" She blew the long match out of flame and moved to lower her frame from the bench she had used. "The infant was a cripple, one who could scarcely be fed by his brother at such young age, thus I beg, tell me then what he could have done? T'was mercy, my dearest King, the thing which had brought such horror to his life, thus, aye, his guilt was evident to all, yet is his baby brother's death not enough of a punishment?"

To the echo of anger and surprise she had felt upon the moment of the verdict's reveal, Edmund's head easily shook as his hand finally lifted to remove the silver crown so comfortably resting on his head so it could instead be useless upon his lap, "You don't understand; I could see it in his eyes." He admitted, threading his fingers through the unruly black locks for the sake of keeping them away from his eyes as he looked at her once again. "He was glad to be rid of the burden, he was glad he could live only for himself now; I saw it: he was glad of it all."

"Edmund, he is just a child," Juliet attempted, placing the burnt out match on the nearest table, and nearly begging with her eyes.

And she would have said more, but before she could, the loud echoes of his easy retort crashed against the walls loud enough to make every single one of her movements stop at once: "AND SO WAS I!" His hands had fallen to rest on the cushion under him, his eyes heavy on Juliet's, every speck of his frame weighed down by the tension of the very words he expelled. "I was a child too, when I betrayed my family and nearly led many to their deaths." He paused, the furrow of his brow shadowing the brown of his eyes enough to make them nearly seem black from where she stood. "And you think I wasn't glad of it at first?" He continued. "You think I didn't welcome the idea of having my siblings serve me as King, and thought anything that happened until that came true was worth it? Because if you think that, Juliet, then you're even more naive than you have ever thought to be."

For a moment, even Juliet could not move; not because she wasn't angry, she was, especially after the words so mindlessly spoken by the Just king, but because every speck of fight she had in her had gone with the tears shed for her past and loss, that night, her will to argue was gone. That day... it simply had become too much; thus the silence remained, and only after she had found will to move, simply to return the bench to its proper place before the piano, did the echo of her words return with the softness her own exhaustion had brought: "I dare say, just because such were thy thoughts, it does not mean it is the same for all children who commit a crime." Her frame straightened, and her steps, without any single thought of letting them lead her out the room, instead moved so she could finally rest by the side of the King one more time.

"What would  _you_ know of it?" Edmund replied, the echo of his anger still evident enough for Juliet to feel it against her heart.

But still, for once, she refused her wit the freedom it wished, for she knew his anger had to be led by so much more than her own disagreement. "Nay'r as much as thee, I'm sure." She allowed, at least, daring to look nowhere but him. "But I also believe, my dearest," she began, proving what little strength she had left that day by looking directly into Edmund's eyes, regardless of the heaviness of his stare, regardless of his own anger, his own guilt. "That not only thy anger for this boy hast flourished through the grief thou wouldst refuse to allow into thy heart, but that thou hast also forgotten of the most important detail of thy treacherous tale," She sat, the peach of her gown serving almost like a blanket as her feet hid under it upon the couch. "In which the evil thy actions brought was forgiven, for thy later deeds proved thou hath not the will to do evil, but regretted thy misguidance evermore, as was thus..." she moved slightly closer to him, enough so that her hand could move within its tired disposition to rest upon the softness of his cheek. "Thou hast been forgiven for thy evils for far longer than thou canst see," She confided, wishing for the millionth time that he could see what they all did, what his siblings did, what Athena had, what Juliet herself had, may God help her, perhaps even grown to love as much as forgive. "Thus, I beg, my heart, discern thy forgiveness, and judge not a child by the actions that speak no longer of who thou art. For aye," She went on, just as Edmund's lips began parting to speak something against what she said, but no; her thoughts were sure, her stance secure, her words strong. "It shaped thee, as much as mine own death hath made of me who I am, but I pray thee understand the difference thus: what thou hast done within thy past hast formed thee, but it be not who thou art now. For thou art a King, a respected, beloved King, long forgiven by his people, who for his treachery can understand so much more than most of us ever could.

Thus, my dearest King, my dearest Edmund," Her fingers allowed a gentle trace against the familiarity of a single tear against his cheek before her hand moved gently to rest against his chest, mindless of the crown on his lap as she moved closer for the necessity she held of his understanding. "Be alike thy title," She continued, her eyes nearly pleading with his own for the sake of what she saw in him: everything she admired, everything she loved. "Be Just, and see the truth thy grudge against thy past can taint within this truth: that as I have seen thee suffer for what thou hast done, so will this child, who shall see no more behind his eyelids than the crippled brother he had to kill for the sake of mercy, for what life, I beg thee tell me, couldst a child such as that have without a mother or a father, what couldst be taught to him by a brother who was barely ten, and who could nay'r feed himself much less a baby?" She paused, as much shocked by the silence coming from him as the second droplet adorning of his cheek, and the very truth that had nearly broken her, which carried along the day like a dark enchantment resting in contrast against the cloudless sky and bright moon and stars; a truth that, in the end, she had to speak to free her throat from the torture of its knot: "There has been enough loss this day."

And may it be her words, her understanding, or the simple giant loss and anger that had cursed through his veins from the moment Peter had announced Athena's death, but suddenly, without even a warning, or even his most usual request for her to leave with his intention that she not see him in such a state, the Just King simply began to cry; first it was just the tears falling against his cheeks, Juliet's understanding eyes looking into his own as hers filled with tears alike, and then it was his arms around her waist, his head resting against her chest, and both of them holding onto each other as if they were the only good thing in the world; a fact of course not true with the love brought by Edmund's siblings, and the short peace found in their castle regardless of the Ettins' continued rebellion. "She was my best friend." Edmund cried, welcoming the weight of Juliet's head atop his own as her own tears began to fall and the comfort from her arms became the first truly allowed with the seriousness of his tears; she held him, simply as she could, holding onto him with the strength she held regardless of her own sorrow, for the words spoken were true: Athena had been Edmund's best friend, and possibly his only  _true_ close friend until Juliet had come along. It wasn't fair. "I failed her, I couldn't find her, I couldn't avenge her."

She had been there that morning, along with all the other nobles, when the announcement had been given, when the courageous general was pronounced dead after the two months of search, when even Edmund's pleas to keep looking were refused by his brother regardless of the young king's single attempt with  _you should wish to look for her more than anyone in here, Peter_ that had left everyone in the room puzzled enough to say no more; even Lord Peridan had been quiet, frowning, unable to look anywhere but the wooden table in front of him, mourning the loss of his adoptive sister for the second time, and Juliet herself had felt her own heart dropping to the bottom of her stomach, the lesser of Athena's connections in that room, which could only speak to those who had held a deeper relationship with her. She had felt angry, too, she had felt betrayed, for it was giving up on searching for her that the proclamation admitted, it was not the discovery of a body, but the lack of discovery at all, it was the abandonment, the injustice of turning their back on someone whose very actions had saved the lives of many; she understood Edmund's anger, even as he cried in her arms, even as he held onto her as if she were his lifeline, Juliet could understand, and she agreed. "Thou hast ne'er failed her." She said, mindless of the tears against her cheeks, for she had had her turn to cry, it was he who needed support now. "There still be time to make the Ettins pay for her life, for hers and all those their rebellion took." She held tighter onto him, the fabrics of his clothes balled within one of her hands, the top of the crown that had been resting on his lap partly digging onto her stomach and surely digging entirely into his, but neither of them cared. "Thou shall see," She assured, her other hand tangling in the familiarity of his hair as the reminder of the second part of that morning's announcement took hold within her head; the part easily forgotten for the sorrow carrier of the only bit important to her: "Queen Lucy will do well on thy brother's intents," She told the crying King, her own tears silent against her cheeks. "And the alliance they plan to offer Archenland shall bring forth the numbers needed so a revenge might be taken, thou wilt see, my heart, I know it, I."

She would help if she were allowed, if she did not take the protection of Lucy Pevensie as seriously as her main job, she would beg Edmund to teach her sword mastering the way Athena once had attempted and join the army herslf, or if time did not allow it, she would offer her daggers and her skill with them to take on anyone who wished to take someone from her ever again; after all, yes, immortality was unfair for the truth that the losses were granted to come, but such a state also allowed her the freedom to fight, to give her life once or twice if needed, but fight the way she never would have even dreamed of doing before the High Protectors had given her strength over on Earth. Indeed, she would offer, and if her Queen went to war, so would she, but for now, all she had was the comfort of Edmund against her, the openness of his tears onto her dress, the courage carried on his shoulders as she became witness to the vulnerability of the Just King, and the very affections she held for him and his family.

Her family.

She just wished, with all of her heart, that she had not had to lose someone to realise that fact; but indeed, too much loss had come that day, and now she would never be unaware again.


	26. Chapter 26

─ ♚ ─

There was a complete silence within the halls of the Northern wing, nothing but the steps of guards passing by, the servants doing their duty, or even the little creatures that had found a job somehow within the many halls of the castle; and within the High King's private reading room, nothing but the crackling of the pointless fire or the tip of his quill scribbling down almost urgently against the parchment, for his thoughts were too much, and his only solace rested on that quill, the ink plastering the entirety of his wishes onto the parchment, his reality, his strength:  _I don't care if you won't even read this, but today is your birthday, and everyone else is mourning your death..._ His breath echoed almost too loudly to his ears, the cursed silence that allowed him too much time to think, too much time to want, to wish, to hope onto the very truth he urgently wrote,  _I don't believe it,_ even the usual elegant curls of his handwriting seemed wrong,  _I think you're still out there, and until the last breath in my body I will keep looking, and I'm going to find you... I will, because I care. I care, I l..._ the echoes of the knocking on his door made the final unfinished word become no more than a scratch against the parchment, which made a breath of distaste escape from his lips, his eyes close, and the single echo of "Come in," leave his tired lips onto the wished relief of good news.

When the door opened, he was as much glad to see Edmund, as the Just King was worried while his careful steps led him quickly into the room; after all, how could he even come to ignore the dishevelled reality Peter presented when he was alone and so easily failed to seem kingly for the truth of his own worries, or the grief so easily shown in the tiredness of his blue eyes. Indeed, the younger king had a reason to head into his brother's reading room, but even such halted in his mind for the epitome of sorrow Peter easily attempted to hide from him; once upon a time he would have been able to hide it from Edmund, for he had thought Peter to be hated, annoying, arrogant, all things the very treachery for which he had nearly condemned a boy of ten a week prior had truthfully erased from his heart; but now, with his love so strong for the High King, who he respected regardless of the arrogance he sometimes presented, the attempts at secrecy were as useless on him as his endless lectures once had been. Not to mention the letter that rested on the desk, one so messy Edmund didn't even have to read it to know not only that it was not meant for any political issue (else his penmanship might be much more perfect than the messy scribbles of despair displayed on the paper), but who it was for: there were only one five people in that world who could leave the High King so troubled; one of them stood in front of him, three others waited, unbeknownst to him, in Susan's private reading room, and the fifth... well, the fifth one had been pronounced dead a week prior. "Peter, don't do this to yourself." Edmund said instead of a greeting, the frown adorning of his forehead speaking more for him than any words could allow. "Not when you know Athena can't—"

"What do you want, Edmund?" Peter interrupted, his tired eyes focusing on his, and his one free hand resting pointlessly against the words previously scribbled, as if that alone could make the other stop asking things; or better yet, as if merely stopping the words from coming could bring her back. "Did you come here for something, or are you here just to judge me?"

Of course the words hurt; how could they not, when things had been going so well between them before the Ettins attacked? But still, the grief was clear to be at fault for the harshness of his utterance by enough attention of the Just king to allow it to pass by; thus merely release the single silent breath, and drop his shoulders for the gentle disappointment that carried the boy's purpose out of his lips: "Lucy and Juliet are back." He informed him as plainly as he could. "They're waiting with Susan in her map room; Lucy says she achieved the alliance with Archenland, but before she signs, she wants to talk to all of us." He paused, "to you."

The frown in the middle of Peter's forehead only deepened. "Me?" He wondered, only by then finding will to straighten his posture. "Why? She knows we trust her judgement on alliances, why would she need to talk to me?"

Edmund's head simply shook to accompany the single shrug of his shoulders left before he moved slightly to head back in the direction of the door he had left open. "I don't know, but I guess it'll be easier to just go there and ask her, don't you think?" And with that, no more than the stoic echo of his lips, he left; not even allowing himself to stop for a second and wait for his brother to follow along, not when the words he had spoken had been ignored for the sake of the avoidance of a fight when he was clearly so sad, but could not help the sting coming from Edmund's heart.  _Let him walk alone to Susan's map room,_  he thought,  _see if I care;_ of course the frown across his forehead remained, and a single hand rested on the hilt of his sword, because even he couldn't lie to himself regardless of what he thought otherwise: he cared, he always cared.

♦

The daggers rested admired at the centre of the giant map table, with a near blushing Juliet listening to the echoes of praise that fell from Lucy and Susan's lips; it was something she definitely hadn't thought would be the side effect of having to truly protect the Valiant Queen upon her first alliance meant to be of more than just a letter to the country, but it was something that did happen as Lucy replayed their entrance into Archenland territory three days prior, almost as if she were telling the tale of a great warrior that had fought a battle. "I beg thee, stop." Juliet attempted, even moving to reach for her daggers once again so she could place them safely upon their sheaths against her forearms. "Else thou wouldst make me sound like something I am not."

But Queen Lucy refused to allow the smile to disappear from her lips even as a single hand moved to push a few lose locks behind her ear. "I will not." She claimed, the blue of her eyes dancing from an equally smiling Susan to Juliet; "I am proud of my best friend, is that so bad?" She wondered. "The way you jumped from our horse and took out those daggers to meet a  _sword_!"

The second dagger slipped into its sheath, and blushing Juliet's head shook once more. "Lucy, please!" She called, unable to erase the smile from modest lips. "I pray thee, stop, or be proud when I am not around, for thy words are too much."

"Well, they should be: I  _am_  proud!" Lucy repeated and easily laughed at the wordless response from her Lady, who had simply taken hold of the folds of her skirt and continued on blushing deep red, making the Valiant queen easily attempt to get the other to relax by nudging Juliet at her side before a single side embrace was gifted to her with the means of comfort. "You even made it look easy in that dress."

Even Susan seemed impressed, not only by the daggers presented, but the tale spoken by her sister. "I do wish I had been there to see it." After all, getting off a horse in a silk dress was easier said than done, and if Juliet had not only done such a thing, but had the skill to unsheathe two daggers from her arms and meet the coming sword in time for it to stop it from striking, then it had to have been something much more impressive to see than it had sounded; of course, the only reason the tale came to be told was because the person holding the sword hadn't been anyone who meant any true harm, but a guard of Archenland keeping outlanders out of their roads, which had been exactly what the Queen and her Lady had been thought to be for their lack of more guards or escorts. Good surprise the guard had gotten when Juliet told him who he had just attacked; thus making the tale as much a funny one as one to leave Susan impressed as much as Lucy had been.

It was those smiles Edmund Pevensie first saw upon entering the room; that, and Juliet's nearly too red complexion, which became enough for not only his previous displeasure to disappear with a relieved recollection of all the good things he had in his life, but also make a soft smile appear across his lips against the very concern left behind Peter's entire disposition. "What are you three talking about now?" He wondered, praying within his short wonder that his sisters wouldn't notice the slightly longer glance in Juliet's direction before he even thought of sitting down by Susan's side; after all, he and Juliet had not yet had any chance to properly reunite after the first long time spent apart in good terms, and it wasn't as if he could just walk in her direction and plant a kiss against her lips to make up for all the kisses he had wished for the way he very much hungered to do; not in front of his sisters, at least.

"Juliet's heroics, of course." Lucy began, newly prompted to repeat everything she'd told Susan the moment they'd arrived to her room; even taking a deep enough breath to go through the entirety of the tale once more, but before she could, her Lady's hands easily covered her lips regardless of the deepening of her own blushing.

It was an act that only made Susan break into a short echo of laughter; which could probably be told to be the first one to escape her lips since she had returned to Cair Paravel. "Once is enough, I beg of thee." Juliet requested, trying truly not to apologise endlessly for even daring to cover Lucy's lips, but the young Queen's muffled laughter was enough to let her know it was not as bad an action as she had thought it to be; not that she had had even time to  _think_ of it before it had happened.

Still, Lucy's hands easily lifted to move Juliet's away, and when they gave, all she could do was feign the deepest playful shock over the brand new idea that easily grew within her mind; one which, without much of a pause, she voiced with the same sort of enthusiasm she was so famously known for. "You and Edmund should duel!" She didn't even really let go of Juliet's hands.

"What!?" It was the first time Edmund and Juliet seemed to agree so strongly about something in public and in unison; even if that something was the very shock of the young Queen's proposition and nothing else. "I pray thee, nay, for I am not as skilled as he." Juliet continued barely a second later.

"Yeah," Edmund agreed regardless of what the playfulness of the idea brought into his mind. "She's definitely not as skilled as me, and it wouldn't exactly be fair, would it?" He wondered, looking at both his sisters before focusing only on Lucy and motioning in the direction of the lady he so wished to kiss upon that moment. "I'd have her on the ground in a second."

Oh, but how easily Juliet changed lanes when someone doubted her or her abilities; for all Lucy and Susan could do was smile at one another with near excitement the moment the young Protector turned to look at Edmund with gentle narrowed eyes before she spoke. "Fairness be damned, your majesty." She said, the blush in her cheeks beginning to fade for the mere challange set in Edmund's near-mocking grin by the time she sat straight and spoke again: "Know'th that I am aware thou wouldst win in the end, but nay, sir, our match would last more than a second, for I wouldst have thee on the ground myself at least once before the end: I am good enough for that."

"Challenge accepted, then." Edmund retorted, even leaning slightly on the table for the very playfulness allowed within the single friendship they held public enough for their words; but lord knows, if they had been alone, simply dalliant as they had been in private for so long, then he would have even taken out his sword, brought the challenge there and then, and he would know that the second one of them hit the ground, the other would follow, somehow turning a duel into an hour or two of kissing until one of them had to pull away for breath. But alas, they were not alone.

As it was,  _because_ they were not alone, the playfulness of the situation made a certain speck of joy shine within the room, one which, if a strange eye were looking in, one might think mirrored the joy before the entirety of the Ettinsmoor situation had begun; before the small war, the deaths, the disappearances: before Athena's death. As if the light of their friendship managed to break the cloud of grief long enough to allow a few smiles, a couple of waves of laughter, and the relief of forgetting about everything else for a moment or two; but even through the speck of relief came the truth of their reality barging back in when Peter's feigned strength became evident enough to the four people who knew him best as they sat within that room. How could it not, when the existence of the forced mask of courage for the sake of all those people walking the hallways of Cair Paravel could do no more than remind them all of the very reason for which they sat down together that afternoon in the first place? It was why the smiles faded, why the challenge in Edmund's features disappeared, why Juliet's frame hunched slightly with the guilt that very easily slipped into her mind: how dare she smile, laugh, blush, and play when a war was so painfully near? How dare she feel joyous when the life of someone close to her had been claimed ended not a week before?

The silence shifted in its lightness to the heaviness of everyone's remembered grief as not but the echoes of Peter's feet and the creaking wood of the chair he pulled back became the tense soundtrack to their thoughts; but it was a silence broken when he finally sat down and simply said: "I'm sorry I'm late."  _Late?_  Juliet thought, leaning against the comfort of the chair in an easy attempt at taking her silent place as Lucy's Lady and no more.  _How couldst he be late when we ne'er set a time at all?_ "What is it you need us to discus, Lu?"

And just like that, any speck of forgetfulness onto the very grief that united them upon that gloomy afternoon disappeared by the sense of duty and the seriousness easily called forth by the High King; just like that, a room which had been the place of no more than four friends, suddenly became the meeting place of two kings, two queens, and a silent lady. It was a change of mood so swift that if none of them were so used to it, it might have caused a little more of a pause; but so it was that it was normal enough for Lucy's hands to reach into her little leather parcel without thinking too much about it, and retrieve the scroll that she wished to speak so detailedly about. "As you all know, I'd been keeping a small alliance alive with Archenland by written word," she began, easily undoing the little string knot keeping the parchment securely rolled. "It was  _because_ of that little alliance that we were so easily welcomed into their lands; but I knew that what I needed to ask was better done face to face with King Lune."

"We also don't have enough time to wait for written replies," Susan reminded whilst her arms moved to rest crossed atop her table. "But go on."

With the unrolling scroll attempting to be flattened by Lucy's soft hands, no more but a single nod of agreement to the older Queen's words bobbed her head before continuing. "Well, the good news is, King Lune is more than willing to stand by our side against the Ettinsmoor rebellion with nothing more than one single request." She paused. "Not only for the sake of our small existing alliance, but because it seems the Ettins have also been bothering them, even if in lesser means than us." She nodded, finally placing the parchment flat in front of her so the title of bold letters screaming  _TREATY OF BERUNA_  could be seen by all who looked.

"And the bad news?" Wondered Edmund, whose eyes kept having to be forced to focus on his sister instead of the silent girl at her side over that annoying brightness in his heart that begged him to have a second to simply press his lips to hers so he could focus on what he  _should_ befocusing on, which was Lucy and her words. Damn feelings.

But little would he know that what the Valiant Queen wished to express would become enough for any sense of distraction to disappear from not only his hormonal mind, but everyone else's: "He expects us to seal this alliance by marriage." She said simply, worriedly, her ocean blue eyes focusing on his eldest brother sitting across from her for the very reality she was even slightly terrified of speaking; as if saying nothing would be enough to make the truth be nothing but a bad dream, as if by keeping her lips pressed together she could save any of them from having to do something as horrible as marrying for convenience instead of love; she who called Juliet Capulet, the very epitome of love within that strange place she could distantly still remember, her best friend; she wanted to—

"It's fine," Susan interrupted her guilt and the inner wonderings of everyone in the room, thus making every single pair of eyes land on her; it had been something well expected ever since her coming of age ball what felt like a lifetime prior, something she had already decided to offer for the sake of peace once, which had ended in the death of many. The way she saw it, it had been her fault; for it had been her idea which had led them all blindly into something that would end so bloody, thus it seemed fair to pay for her mistakes by the very thing she had once offered; and it was because of it, by knowledge of the recent death of King Lune's wife, that the obvious option escaped from her lips: "We all knew it would come to this one day," Oh gentle queen who so easily broke everyone's heart by her acceptance; especially Juliet, who had once upon a time thought it unfair that she should give her freedom away for politics. "If it will help Narnia, I will do it." She confirmed, strongly enough to seem unwavering, yet plainly enough for both her brother's expressions to fall in either distaste or distress.

The very oldest of which felt the pain under her words as if it were his own. "Susan..." He attempted, but another voice broke though their misery before he could say something else.

One which spoke the most single unexpected word at that moment: "No." It was Lucy, who had been so deep into her own concern towards her family that she had not even taken the time to think of the way her words might have been taken; but she breathed, her head shaking with no more than her own worry displayed from her eyes to her pressed lips before she forced herself to speak. "I didn't mean you, Susan." She confessed, thus making her siblings' eyes fall on her again; where before there had only been curiosity, now there was only true concern. "The proposal isn't for you," She admitted, looking away from the frowning Queen at the head of the table and towards the very person sitting across from her: "It's for you, Peter." She said. "King Lune offers his full support, only if you agree to marry his sister, and make her High Queen Consort of Narnia."

For a moment no one said anything; nothing but the echoes of the birds outside the high window, or the creaking wood settling under all their weight, nothing but the eyes of the two Kings and Susan resting on Lucy's frame, as if they didn't know she wouldn't lie, as if they didn't know she would never concoct a joke in such a dire moment, as if they didn't know  _her_ ; but it was when they all remembered they did, that the silence broke as quickly as if it had been a glass thrown across the room. "Then no, that is impossible." Susan said, at the same time Edmund's lips parted for a single exclamation of discomfort easily expelled through the sardonic smile that lifted his lips "He better be joking." And Peter uttered the only word anyone truly even paid enough attention to: "Fine."

"Peter, no." Susan quickly said, finally the only voice echoing against the walls with enough displeasure to express upon every speck of her expression. "Think about it for a moment, please. We don't know what he wants with this, he could be trying to sabotage us entirely, and—"

"The only reason we even thought of a true alliance with Archenland was because King Lune and his people have been good to us," Peter interrupted leaning against the table as if it would make his point clearer. "Why doubt that now, when he is asking only one single thing as simple as marriage instead of taking advantage and asking for more?"

"Single?" Edmund countered beside him, "Simple?" his frown deeply set for the evidence against the very simplicity Peter claimed. "It may be just one thing now, but Susan's right; why would he ask  _specifically_  for you if not to reach a higher goal?" He paused. "Everyone knows you're the High King, Peter; what if by asking this one thing he expects to control you somehow? Ask for more things later; control us, and that way control Narnia."

"Don't be ridiculous," the High King quickly answered, his head shaking and his eyes almost even narrowing for the mere desperate truth of his need regardless of the logic he attempted: "If he wanted to control Narnia, he could easily join the Ettins against us, turn against them once we're defeated, and take the kingdom for himself." He looked at Susan, then. "You  _know_  he has been good to us, he has been a friend thus far, why would that change simply because of an offer of marriage?"

"It's not the offer itself, you have to see that." Susan replied, sitting straighter regardless of how she wished to do anything but. "It's that he specifically asked for  _you_ ; I mean, think about it, what if—"

"I  _am_ thinking about it, Susan!" Peter exclaimed, rising from his chair with enough swiftness to startle everyone in the room into silence and a deep frown from the young king at his side. "I'm thinking about  _it_ , and I'm thinking about Narnia." He continued, barely able to keep his voice low enough for it to reverberate only within the room. "We are vulnerable, and at this point, if we don't want more people to die, we are desperate. And we made it clear for Archenland and his King to see, and this is his single request: that I marry his sister." He paused, looking from Susan to Edmund, to Juliet, and finally to Lucy. "I like it as much as if Susan had to marry Lune himself, but it is what must be done; unless one of you can come up with a better solution that will not end in bloodshed."

The idea seemed as ridiculous to Juliet—who remained quiet over her single position in the room as Lucy's companion and witness—as it did to everyone else in the room, yet no one, not even Susan, who had had to deal with the same sort of marital thoughts since the troubles with Ettinsmoor had begun, dared say a single thing against the challenge thrown by the High King, for she could not; even Lucy, whose worry had been the very thing that had kept her silent for the past few moments, had nothing to say, and nothing anyone did could break that silence for a while. Not because they didn't want to, nor because they didn't have anything to say, for they had endless discontents to voice against the solution presented, but because they knew above everything, that it  _was_ the only possible solution to the problem that had already taken much too long to resolve: the war against the Ettins could not be put off for much longer. They knew it was a miracle they had not already attacked (though perhaps the intimidation of their own little army was enough, one could hope), and the time that had passed only made the promise of vengeance into a loud rhythm of hate or anger in Juliet and Edmund's minds; yet it was as clear as this: that the very promise they expected to make come true came with a catch as simple yet as important as the need of alliances with nearing countries for the sake of more numbers added onto the army than the few they had; enough to deal with giants, enough to deal with the rebels from Ettinsmoor who so claimed they had no king but their own and thus would bring war unless the Pevensies gave up theirs.

Thus, indeed: they had no more to say.

"Exactly," Peter finally broke the silence, not even trying to hide the near unexpected speck of disappointment that came across his features; which only made Juliet think that perhaps there had been a small part of him that had hoped they would come up with another solution in time; without sitting again, he looked at Lucy at last. "How does King Lune expect us to make it known we agree to his terms?"

Defeat, even if only among themselves, was clearly claimed. "All that needs to be done is for this document to be signed and given back to him." She admitted, shortly eyeing the quill and inkpot by Susan's side of the big table as if it were an enemy before looking in Peter's direction once again. "The moment it's fully signed, you will be engaged to Princess Juno." She paused, sliding the parchment in Susan's direction for the practicality of her being the first to sign. "When the King receives this by my hand, he will know you have agreed, and will thus send the princess to our land."

There was a sad reluctance in Susan's features, which caused her the pause on the scribbling of her signature that allowed Juliet to notice something for the first time: there was a shadow in Peter's expression, something under the mask of security with which he attempted to face the truth of his engagement that disquieted her, a single shadow which she could think to have seen somewhere else, a long time ago, as she looked upon a mirror placed within the room of someone whose body she possessed; she had been sitting on a bed of hay within the humble house of a farmer girl of the sixteenth century—a girl so lost in love with her soon to be fiancé that it had made Juliet's job so much harder when the soul mate she had had to save had been the girl's best friend (after all, Protectors of Love always possessed someone close to the intended soul mate's life so it would be easier for them to help without having to come clean onto what they were)—she had sat there, just after the girl's promised had left, just after the very first kiss Juliet had had since her death, a kiss that had been so hard to allow regardless of the fact that it was not her body nor her life, for the mere fact that the very man who had killed her had remained within her mind as the only person she had loved. What she had seen on that mirror had been betrayal plastered on the dark features of the farmer girl, but the betrayal was not hers: it had been Juliet's; it had been betrayal regardless of the very dagger that had ended her life; whether it was her life or not, whether they were her lips or not, Juliet Capulet had felt as if she had betrayed the very memory of the one person she had loved once upon a time, as if by kissing someone else, she stabbed Romeo's heart alike. It was that very expression she had seen upon that mirror that she noted shadowed the features of the High King from the moment the signing of the document had begun until the stylised scribble of his name ended up upon the parchment claiming of the end of his freedom. "So be it." He said, laying the quill on top of the fully signed document, and turning immediately to walk away from the room.

Indeed, the shame of betrayal of a personal sort rested in the eldest King's mind, but even as she saw him walking head-held-high and stoically away from the gloom and silence of Susan's map room, the only thing Juliet could wonder was: betrayal against whom?


	27. Chapter 27

─ ♚ ─

The steps against the hard floor were so loud against the echoes of the night that Lady Juliet could barely even think twice before moving her hands to remove the shoes that so could shatter her plans; ones spoken in the short allowance she had had as the Just King helped her plainly to step down from the horse she had shared with Lucy that afternoon, when they had safely arrived after the final trip to Archenland so Lucy could deliver the signed treaty herself—lest the lack of her presence lead King Lune to think the signatures could have been forged. It hadn't been something noted by anyone else; not even Peter, who had helped Lucy off the horse himself, for Edmund had made the moment feel so natural that even Juliet would have missed it if the words hadn't been spoken directly against her ear: "I will be busy all day, but please, meet me in my room tonight; you've been away from me for far too long." And before she could even acknowledge his request, his hands quickly let go of her, matching even the time it had taken Peter to help Lucy set her feet on the ground; it had been so swift, in fact, that for the sake of their discretion she was able to do no more than nod within the welcoming smile she had felt upon her lips the moment she had seen the two Kings and one Queen welcoming their arrival, and no one, not even Susan—who had so anxiously been waiting for their return that barely had Lucy's feet touched the ground before the Gentle Queen moved to wrap her sister in a tight hug—had noted the single exchange between the King and the Protector; as ever, their secret remained safe.

But Juliet understood the reasoning behind such a request even within its public deliverance; not only because even she would be much too busy for the rest of the day, dealing with the Head of Household duties she had to leave behind for the sake of the Valiant Queen's protection on top of the preparation of the Archenland royals' arrival, but also because he spoke the truth: the two had been apart from one another for much too long; as it was, that not only had she left with Lucy for the planning of the alliance, but the urgency of the situation with Ettinsmoor was so inescapable, that it had made it impossible for the youngest Queen to allow herself even the single night of rest she should have taken after the signing of said alliance document had been done; and, instead, she had simply had a short meal with Juliet, and without much more ado, the two had left once again, not giving the two unknown lovers even a single opportunity to properly say goodbye or, even actually hello. Thus their separation had been longer than planned, for the already three, nearly four days that it had taken for the queen and her protector to come back from the arranging alliance ended up becoming a week and a half, for the time it had taken them to go back to Archenland for the deliverance of the signed treaty, rest, and return to Narnia for the preparations needed for the arrival of the Archen Princess and her people, who would be arriving a day after they did; a whole week and some days, for Edmund and Juliet wishing to see each other, distracted only for their duties, yet hoping for the other's presence whenever they were alone. Indeed, it was the first time the two had spent so much time apart unwillingly, and it was for it that the gentle protector found herself running through the secret passages of Cair Paravel by the drive of Edmund's whispered word, her shoes in hand, and her hair flying in a wave of dark brown against the shadows of the castle.

Her heart beat wildly not only for the promise of seeing him again, but for the secrecy with which her steps led her, hidden from anyone walking the halls, hidden from any eye and ear, yet familiarly passing from dark hall to dark hall until the entirety of the maze led her finally to the thick wooden door she had been looking for and was so used to either hiding behind or leaving through for the sake of their continuous discretion: the secret door to the Just King's room. With an easy move of releasing her shoes so she could step into them now that she had not to worry about any specific noise, Juliet knocked once, paused, and finally knocked three times again for the sake of their secret knock before her hands lifted to fix her already perfectly curly hair for the sake of dealing with the sort of nerves she still felt hit against her heart whenever the thought of seeing him came along; and then the door opened, and the smile that had been nervous before only turned into one full of relief when the familiar features of the youngest king came into view. "What are you doing?" He wondered with nothing but the soft lift of that beloved smile crossing his lips while one of his hands moved to take hers in hopes of welcoming her into the room. "I thought you were going to come in through the main door," he admitted without the disappearance of that little smile he seemed to only hold for her.

"Aye," She admitted; her own room-lighting smile unable to break as he closed the secret door behind her. "Such had been my plan, I admit, but, Oh, Edmund, I wished to see thee, and I nay'r wished to be stopped by anyone in the hall, for thou canst be sure that someone would find need for me after my long absence." She confessed while he let go of her hand only to place the giant painting back upon the wall, where it hid the door.

Only when he finally returned to her side did the single smile of soft amusement find home upon his lips. "And here I was telling my guard to leave me alone tonight." He mused, fully pulling her toward him as if he intended them to dance, but merely managing to wrap his arms around her waist for the comfort he had missed for the entirety of the time she had been away. "Who cares now, you're here; finally." And without much more than another thought, the boy's lips pressed against hers onto the very kiss the two had been craving for days.

Sometimes it still seemed impossible or strange, regardless of the many months they'd been together with and without obstacles, that the two should be together at all; for it had been them who had spent most of the years he had worn a crown fighting, arguing, and, in his case, finding her so absolutely annoying that even her voice had seemed like a curse he could not get rid of; yet now, not only could either of them not imagine or remember what their lives had been whilst empty of the place the other occupied, but neither of them seemed to be fighting against it. Granted, Edmund had hated the discovery of what it was to be lonely, to be missing Juliet so much he could barely sleep, he had been angry and annoyed alike when he had first discovered he actually  _liked_ her, but his sense of relief upon seeing her unharmed on that horse with his sister had made all the anger dissipate as if it had been no more than an annoying fever. In truth, he didn't know how deep his feelings were, for he felt as cursed when he was alone as when he was with her, but unlike he had attempted during the one or two years in which he had convinced himself he had found her most annoying, he refused to fight against any of it now: he knew he was doomed, he just didn't know  _how_ doomed. Alike thus, where once Juliet Capulet would have fought against her own thoughts of romance toward anyone but the man who had ended her life once upon a time in Verona—thus he who she thought had been her only chance at anything close to love—, she now fought no longer, for the truth placed with Edmund at her side was one that made her a mere witness no more; as much for the echo of her wild heart when he approached, as the very relief she felt when his arms wrapped around her or his lips pressed against hers, or the mere comfort and safety she felt at his side, the echoes of respect whenever she spoke, or the single look she had caught in his eye many times when he thought she wasn't looking. After all, she had thought it: who was she to step in the way of, dare she think it? Love, when her heart was already so set upon him? Who was she to stand on her own way, or his, if he ever came to feel alike; which he could, if she were to judge by everything she saw.

Of course, the incredulity of their situation also sometimes made them forget of the time limit they both still believed would come, specially with Edmund's seventeenth birthday so near, but even such thoughts could not stop them from the comfort of each other's arms, or the ease with which they lost themselves in each other; alike that moment, when time passed so softly around them and their endless kisses that eventually they found their way to Edmund's bed in a mess of limbs and laughter, for her hair was so long that he had ended up landing on it, and the silks or her dress so slippery, that what they had attempted to make into an interrupted graceful seek of comfort turned instead into him landing harshly enough on top of her that their foreheads crashed, as if they had never done such a thing before. Thus, of course they laughed; both their hands resting on their foreheads, and Edmund's otherwise fair complexion reddening over the small incident that had very obviously been his fault for not calculating the other's clothes and hair. "Hast thou forgotten how to move whilst I was gone?" Juliet jested in between soft laughs toward the boy who had fallen defeated by her side.

Blushing or not, the words still left his lips with the swiftness she was used to: "And if I have it's your fault for  _being_  gone for so long." His hand lowered from the decreasing discomfort against his head, and the memory of every day that he had spent busy without her—dreaming about her again, waking to the truth that she was nowhere near, feeling as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, and thus ending up annoyed for the reality that he did not even come close to imagining what the hell it was he was feeling—came crashing horribly into his mind, making it so that, before he could even stop his lips from betraying him onto the very feelings he couldn't even truly put a name to, and against the short silence that had comforted them for a couple of seconds, he spoke: "You were gone  _too_  long." And his gaze turned to the side so he could see her, surprised to notice she was already looking at him with curious eyes and the relief he had seen present from the moment he had opened the secret door. "I could barely think of anything but you these past few days." He confessed, his lips almost pressing and his brow softly furrowing for the discomfort of expressing his feelings, thus looking up at the bed's canopy once again. "I think you've broken me."

With no more than the hope of comfort, Juliet rolled to her side, propping herself with an elbow so she could look at him, and rest her other hand against his chest. "If thus be so, then I dare confess, my heart, thou hast broken me alike." She said, making his eyes meet with hers again regardless of the little frown placing a wrinkle in the middle of his forehead within the silent question made evident by his gaze. "For, once I wouldst be able to think of no more than my duties here and elsewhere, but now..." She moved, simply so she could halfway rest on top of him and look down at him without the tiredness of the arm that had held her up before. "Now I seldom think of nay'th but thee; and if I may confess, my dearest Edmund, it scares me."

One of his hands lifted to rest upon her waist, just as his head moved in a single nod of agreement to match the words he spoke: "It scares me too." It was something he never would have thought to admit to Juliet, much less for the anger it sometimes brought him that made a single insane second make him think of putting a stop to their romance for the sake of his mind's sanity; but no faster did the thought come before his heart began feeling as if something had either pricked it with a dagger, or as if he could hardly think straight. Indeed, he wouldn't speak of the details, but the mere resonance of the truth on his lips became enough for him to feel as vulnerable as when he'd fully cried in her arms. "But I also don't think I'd change it, or something crazy like that." He said then, confident but for the happy look in Juliet's eyes, for there was something he had realised for a while before the two had even kissed: he liked to make her smile.

"Nor I." She easily replied, threading her fingers through the dark of his hair before she finally moved to kiss his lips again; a feat so easily welcomed by the other, that his hand moved from her waist to her cheek so the full urgency of his lips could be met. Even then, after a short moment that even he felt had been much _too_  short, the young Protector pulled away from him with the single lift of her lips in amusement, and the playfulness of her words in a note barely higher than whisper: "Alert the world and its creatures within," even her eyes refused to leave his. "King Edmund, The Just, has a heart."

And it rested there, one of the many things he was thankful for when it came to her: she had grown to know him well enough to note when things became too much for him, and thus, she joked; she took his words, made a clear understanding of them, and then she comforted him by the acknowledgement that his emotions were not something he could easily speak about (though, with her, it became easier and easier) by the echo of a jesting word. It made his heart soar in ways he didn't understand, and his need for her grow all the more within his mind regardless of how a single "Shut up," left his smiling lips before they crashed against hers by interruption of her soft laugh to accompany a single movement made so she rested her head on the softness of his bed once again and he atop her. For the fact was true: he knew how he felt, regardless of how it scared him, he was thankful for her, as impossible as it would have seemed to him two years prior, and there was something in his heart even he didn't realise he didn't want to acknowledge for anything more than the single echo of a truth coming within his mind that he would dare not speak: he had discovered what she called his heart the very same day he had discovered his feelings for  _her._

And so they were, those candid emotions that kept their lips pressed in such endless kisses, and their hands finding comfort upon each other; even if eventually they stopped before things could go too far, even if neither of them seemed to really  _mean_  to stop, but did so regardless for the unspoken reality that the two so intently felt yet dared not admit or acknowledge. Such a sentiment that would carry the two of them into waters they could seldom think of upon that moment, yet one that had taken hold of both of them already; indeed, instead, the two broke their kisses once and again for the sake of speaking about all the things they had been deprived of speaking for the entirety of their separation, mindless of time passing regardless of its importance, for they spoke, they kissed, they held each other, and eventually even through their conversations, they both fell asleep. Oh peaceful comfort of the night that could allow them the young pretence that the world around them was not falling apart, that the Ettins were not planning to go to war with them, that Athena Ashdown had not died; it was an unfair comfort for the truth that, the moment the happy birds of early morning began to sing, the reality of their world came crashing down around them harshly enough to make young Juliet almost sit upright quickly enough to make her dizzy the moment she noted the distant light of the hidden sun shining from the window.

It was nothing but the light of the breaking day making everything brighter, not blinded alike she tended to be every morning only for the truth that resting in the Western Wing allowed her the freedom of not waking with the direct sunlight against her face unlike her room in the Eastern wing, yet the mere happenstance of her stay in Edmund's room was plenty to make her uneasy enough to have bolted upright, and therefore moved harshly enough to wake the King himself, who had had his arm wrapped around her frame. "Edmund," she called, her heart suddenly beating wild and her hair dancing with her sudden movements as she turned to look at him at once.

Unlike her, though, the young King seemed unmoved by the clear age of the morning, and instead merely frowned against the soft light whilst the hand that had been basically pushed to the side by the protector's sudden movements reached for the other as tiredly as the echoes of his voice sounded, "What's wrong?" It wasn't urgent at all, only sleepy; as if the comfort that his sleep had allowed him had not yet broken, even by her voice, or the truth that the day was much more important than any other day she might have found herself falling asleep in his arms or his room.

Juliet could not find such comforts in her mind. "'Tis already morrow," she informed urgently, as if it were not evident for the light slipping through the window. "I must go, and so should you." Even her hand moved to push against his, which continued reaching for her and pulling within the boy's silent attempts to get her to go back to sleep.

But still, as ever in the morning, his actions did not entirely match his words at first: " _You_  go, it's my room." His eyes would still not open, and that tiny frown refused to disappear; after all, the Just King had never been a morning person, even before a crown had rested on his head. Barely a second later, though, simply reaching his hand toward her still, pulling on the soft silks of her half-undone dress, he said again, "or better yet, stay, and go back to sleep."

"Nay, I'm afraid I can't." She said, taking the hand that attempted to pull her and reciprocating the tug instead, "nay'r should thee, not this day." She attempted. "I beg, my heart, arise, for the Archen King and Princess could arrive in mere hours, 'tis already much too late." But nothing more than a single moan of displeasure met her words regardless of how the hand she held happily remained there; but still, she pulled again, the frown remaining upon her forehead even in contrast to the small smile that lifted her lips. "Eddie, I beg, arise; we must all prepare."

Only one of the King's eyes opened to greet the day, but the little frown to match hers remained to accompany the grimace of his expression, "You're lucky I like you, or I would have already thrown you out of the room not only for waking me, but for calling me that." His lips were instead broken by a short smile; not only for the truth of his words, but for the mere reality that the single hated nickname sounded like music from her lips; be it his emotions or the imperfect perfection of Juliet Capulet, but when it came from her it wasn't as  _bad_ as when anyone else dared call him that; in fact, his words rang untrue, for if anyone said such a thing to him, specially so early in the morning, he was sure to have thrown something heavy and harming in their direction, like a candlestick or his belt. Instead, he could do nothing against the Lady's words other than smile; honestly, what the hell was wrong with him? "But fine, you go." He allowed, prying his mind away from the very thought he deniably found the answer to much too terrifying to face or acknowledge upon that morning and releasing a single breath of secondary defeat before his other eye opened and his words continued: "I'm sure you have more to do as Head of Household than I have to do as King; but I'll be right behind you."

And of course Juliet knew he was right, and for it she simply nodded, moved to hold his hand with both of hers so she could lift it to press her lips to it with the very affection she felt radiating off of her, and finally fully return that smile. "Aye, but hurry," she said, "for the announcement that they be nearly here could come at any moment." Thus, she moved to finally climb down from the bed whilst fixing the few loose ribbons of her dress as she went.

Still, the King was faster than that, for no sooner had Juliet's feet met the ground and slipped into her shoes, that the other had risen enough to catch her hand, softly call her name, and pull her gently towards him once again until his lips cold press against hers in a gentle kiss that lasted a couple of seconds before he finally pulled away with an easy-found grin to say "Now you can go." And, indeed, with a smile across her lips that the young King had grown to find as much a comfort as something magical to witness, Juliet Capulet discretely headed toward the main door of the room, and left.

♦

The numbers in the hall were not as high as if the reason for their gathering were a ball, or so Juliet noted, but still the silence felt cursed against the monarchs' hopes of anything else; as if it spoke to the dire situation waiting silently outside the borders of Narnia instead of the joy that perhaps would have otherwise taken over everyone's minds by the announcement of the arrival of the royals of Archenland, and the eyes of every noble and royal rested only on the big wooden doors where once upon a time, the four Pevensie children had walked side by side with Aslan to be crowned Narnian royalty. In fact, it was a contrast so easily noted by her for as much the tone of everyone's disposition, as the numbers that filled the hall; where the big room had been full to the brim with people of all rankings for the Kings and Queens' coronation, that day, as they all awaited for the single help offered by their closest ally, no more than all the nobles of the Kingdom, their guests, and the royal guard rested within the confines of the room.

Of course, anyone could have told the young protector that the reason for everyone's silence was no more than the respect expected by monarchs of other countries, and she would have accepted the explanation; but it was not the first time the Narnians had welcomed foreign company, and it was for it that she knew it was not so. After all, she knew the norm, for the custom of such welcoming showed upon that day as the Kings and Queens sat upon their thrones with their closest Lady or Lord standing to their right barely one step behind them—General Orius at Edmund's side, Lord Peridan at Peter's side, Juliet herself at Lucy's side, and for the first time since Athena's disappearance, Lady May Rochford at Susan's side(yet another reminder of what the Gentle Queen thought to be her fault)—, but the silence... oh, the silence was new. Before, when other royals had been welcome to Narnian lands, there had been speaking, laughing, drinking, eating, all no more than a small celebration to welcome those called friends; yet, upon that cloudy day, regardless of the monarchs' attempts at pretending the echoes of joy carried them that afternoon, the food remained untouched, the drinks in many lords' and ladies' hands seemed to be nothing more than a prop, and nothing anyone said could change a thing, because word had spread throughout the realm ever since Susan's bloody return, and even those nobles who had not been detailedly informed of what had happened dreaded the very war whispered for months.

Thus, so it remained: a silence so heavy that everyone in the room became even able to hear the gentle click-clack of the Archen horses' hooves under the fanfare of their trumpets and drums when the expected finally arrived to the gardens of Cair Paravel; and it was only when the giant doors opened by the help of the outer guard that the life, which had once upon a time been easily found in similar situations before, finally arrived to the room, with the formations at either side of the familiar aisle finally taking proper form, and every face within the small crowd becoming tainted by the mask of joy that eventually even the Kings and Queens easily acquired; it was the pretence of normalcy within their realm, the pretence of joy, of welcome amity, as if they did not desperately need the Archen numbers, as if the wedding Peter would announce that day was something chosen merely for the principles of love, as if merely a couple of months before they hadn't had the biggest burial and funeral the country had had since the defeat of the White Witch, as if everything were as alright as it had been for the previous nearly seven years.

Yet it was a perfect mask that seemed natural enough the moment a group of four began their trip down the big aisle in the direction of the four thrones from which Edmund, Peter, Susan, and Lucy, all stood to welcome the coming guests; at the very head of the group was a badger wearing of blue and silver armour and a sword to match his size, who so easily walked faster than anyone else with a smile across his face, and the mere purpose of his appearance evident by the single trumpet he held as he went. "I bring before you," he easily began in a voice much deeper than any person who saw him might have thought he could have, "His majesty, Lune, Great King of Archenland; her royal highness, Juno, Princess of Archenland, and his grace, Lark, Duke of Archencreek and the eight isles, ambassador, and third in line to the crown of Archenland." Against the echo of the creature's words came the noise of feet shifting and clothes ruffling in unison as all Narnian nobles bowed and curtsied appropriately to the three mentioned while they walked down the aisle; and only when the group reached the foot of the stairs leading to the four thrones did silence return.

Juliet, of course, did not curtsy regardless of her position, for her presence by Lucy's side made it so she did not have to do anything the Valiant Queen herself did not do; and it was because of it that she could be as much witness to the badger's own respectful bow to the Kings and Queens as the one he offered his own King, Princess, and ambassador before stepping over to the side of the space left in front of the thrones to do no more other than be as much witness to the entire interaction as Juliet herself was meant to be. That left the King Juliet had only met twice before; a tall enough friendly looking dark haired man of soft olive skin, big brown eyes, and a golden crown to match his title; finally alone with the other two familiar people who easily lowered in a bow and a curtsy for the sake of respect toward the Kings and Queens standing before each of their equally golden thrones. "Rise, friends," the High King finally said in a voice much more joyous than any Juliet had heard him speak with for months; one enough to match the smile that easily lifted his lips as he walked away from his throne and down the couple of stairs that would place him at the very same level as the smiling Archen King, the princess; who appeared to be (as she had been the two other times Juliet had seen her) the perfect picture of breathtaking beauty in the silver dress she wore; and their rather too-young looking ambassador; whose wild brown curls, and wide cheerful smile were the only features matching to the King and Princess, for his eyes were a lake green, and his skin seemed almost too pale while standing by their side, "and welcome to Narnia."

Indeed, the words were welcoming, bright, even hopeful against the gloom of the past weeks, and it made Juliet find only a speck more of will to keep the forced smile regardless of how unwelcome the gesture felt across her lips; but still, as all other nobles rose to attention and respect within the room, even the protector's usually positive mind could not remain afloat. Not even when Peter turned only toward the Princess, and gentle Juliet finally recognised the signs she had been so blind to when they had been meant for her, could she find the will to make her expression genuine; signs such as was the charming note of his voice as he personally welcomed the Princess, or the ease with which he took her hand and led it to his lips in a gesture that seemed so romantic for those nobles who did not know all the truth to become distracted enough from their own worries to seem enchanted by the display before them. As it was, the unfairness of the situation made something that perhaps would have made the Protector happy, had the High King's pursuit of Princess Juno been genuinely driven by love, into something to frown about for the mere wonder of what good her own refusal had been when the end of King Peter's chance at true love would come still by the hand of someone else; it was enough to realise something as striking as the reality that never before had she hated Ettinsmoor more than at that moment (not even when Athena's death had been spoken, which had led her in enough rage to wish for immediate revenge), for they were the reason the entirety of their world had come apart by the death of many, which had made their seeking of alliances needed due to their dire necessity of numbers within their army, and which had finally led to the unfairness that the tying of the king to someone he barely knew truly was. Not even the High King's voice could make her stop thinking of her anger now.

"Hear, all!" He stood there, side by side with King Lune; one single hand resting on his shoulder (after the short affectionate formal half handshake half embrace Juliet had never understood the point of) and the other shortly almost hovering over the Princess' mid-back as he faced the royal guard and the nobles who had been called that day for that very purpose: to hear and bear witness. "I stand beside the King and Princess of Archenland not only as a sign of our friendship, but as a sign of our countries' alliance, as it was written in the Treaty of Beruna." For the first time in what felt like too long, the room broke in cheerful applause; and how could everyone not, if the confession of an alliance spoke of the very thing almost all nobles knew Narnia needed: numbers. "And hereby," continued Peter, in a voice as magnificently loud as his title commended, to make the applause dissipate for the sake of the end of his words. "Before all of you, happily announce my engagement to her royal highness, Princess Juno, of Archenland." Once again, the echo of everyone's applause filled the room, and even the few cheers of the nobles who had been attempting to convince the King to marry for so long joined the celebration as the beautiful Princess of the skin like a soft toffee coloured sand beach under the glow of the morning sun smiled to those who would eventually become her people; yet still, young Juliet could not join the cheer, for she knew the truth, the forceful reality of Peter's destiny: that his wedding was no more than the final signature upon the treaty agreed, and all the king protector could think of was: may his sacrifice be worth it, may we  _win_.

Oh, she wanted to go to war, already, and it surprised her; for never before had violence seemed like the needed option within Narnia, but the reality she lived in—one where one of the people she cared for so much, had to promise into something close to misery for the rest of his life, or people close to her had to die due to pointless wars—was enough to make her wish for the end of those who had taken it upon themselves to ruin the happiness of a world she was as much part of now as the Kings and Queens themselves: may Aslan and her god forgive her, but for the sake of her own sanity as the protection of those she now considered her chosen family... she wanted, nay, she  _needed_ revenge.

And she would help get it even if it was the last thing she ever did.


	28. Chapter 28

 

 ─ ♚ ─

Well, the announcement was out, and the worst part of that reality was that all the plans made for the sake of the war with the Ettins had been finally created; yes, those plans and the numbers added by the alliance with Archenland had been the exact thing everyone in the castle had been hoping for, and, in fact, it was admirable that King Lune had been willing to pull through with his end of the bargain regardless of how the High King and Princess Juno had decided to not get married right away so all preparations could be made, and a proper royal wedding was presented; yes, all of those things were wonderful things, for everything except one little detail: Juliet would not be able to fight for the sake of those she loved. It was ridiculous, the way it had all been decided; though, yes, it had all had something to do with strategy and making the Ettins think Narnia had suffered an even bigger loss in numbers than it actually had, but the valiant protector had been counting on being able to actually  _do_ something for the truth that Queen Lucy herself, she thought, would be fighting in battle. But, alas, the Kings and Queens had agreed on something else entirely: splitting the Narnian army in three, and the Archen one in two, all so the main armies, led by King Peter, King Lune, and King Edmund, would directly attack the Ettinsmoor rebels, and the last bit of the Narnian army, which would be lead by Queen Lucy, (leaving Queen Susan to take care of all matters outside of war due to her decision to never fight in battle again) would remain behind and serve as a backup if things went wrong; so, no, because Juliet herself was bound to the Valiant Queen, she would  _not_ be going into war unless it was absolutely necessary.

Of course, there was a small part of her heart and brain that was relieved for the fact; after all, she hadn't exactly fought more than one person at once with those daggers of hers, and perhaps things would be different if there were countless others around her (not to mention, killing was not something she had actually  _done_ , ever). But there was also another part of her that was as angry as it was horrified to simply be the backup when her love for all those she now called her family almost even willed her to fight regardless of if she could die for a second or third time in that wonderful beloved world of hers; yet so it remained that backup she would be, and whether her mind took well to the idea or not, there was nothing she could do to change it. There was, of course, something else that worked enough as a disconcerting anxiety as she went along the halls of the castle that day by the duties her title held and expectant of the call that would make Lucy have to lead the remaining army toward the battlefield (thus her alike): that a part of her heart, a third part which rested outside of her so dangerously,  _had_ gone to battle by the carrying of his Just hands. Who was she now that she so heartily loved when she had not even expected it, who was she when the prospect of his death or injury made her heart tumble with enough force that the only thing it allowed her to think of was his silent farewell as he looked in her direction before heading off to his side of the battlefield? Indeed, she who had not worried for love other than that which was not her own, now worried tremendously for the one whose affections she held dearly within her heart; and, in truth, it was because of it that she could not even come close to deciding what was worse: fighting and probably dying for her inexperience with more than one attacker, yet being thus distracted for the truth that Edmund would be close and therefore she could keep an eye on him if she willed it; or staying behind in the castle, waiting mindlessly for a call to arms that might never come, and worrying every second about the wellbeing of he who, once upon a time, she would have thought hated her with the entirety of his courageous heart. Not to mention, Peter, who was not as great a swordsman as Edmund was, and therefore rested more vulnerable than the kind holder of her limitless infatuation; so, no, it was not easy to simply walk along within her duties as Head of Household regardless of how she had means of keeping busy, even with the company of those few maids and footmen that had so wonderfully become her friends, the tasks felt as automatic and thoughtless as if she had been doing them for so long that she didn't even need to think to do them.

It was exactly as such, that she ended up within the only task that day that she had been putting off for the entirety of her time after breakfast, one which she knew she should have done personally since the very day the Princess had arrived, but had been unable to for her own bias against her for the truth that she would eventually make Peter give up his freedom for something that was not anywhere close to love; of course, the same could be said about him when it came to her, couldn't it? But the fact was as simple thus: Juliet cared for Peter Pevensie, for she had lived with him for six years, and she had barely known Princess Juno for the mere week and a half since she had arrived; still, she had sent those under her charge to tend to her, to make her feel welcome, regardless of how it was  _her_ role as Head of Household to make sure the Princess and her people got everything they could ever need or desire. And why? Simple as this: Juliet was not a naturally mean person, and she refused to be anything but friendly to a girl who had never done her any personal harm, which was why she refused to talk to any of them until the bias she held against those who would take Peter's freedom dissipated well enough for her to be able to be her amiable self; and what better time than that which she wished to be filled with much more than her own thoughts while the Princess' brother, Peter, and her beloved Edmund fought against the very creatures and people who had begun causing trouble for those she loved in the first place?

Yes, she had decided to get the encounter over and done with, but it still did not make the purpose any easier even by the time she arrived to the Princess' door; for she knew what she had to say as far as her duties expected of her, but the continuance of what little bit of doubt that remained was not exactly helpful onto any personalised thought toward her, and for it her hand hovered inches away from its intended knock, as if there were a gentle force holding her back as the carrier of the many names that had perished from the moment the Ettins so loudly declared war.  _It's not her fault, it's not her fault,_ Juliet chanted within her mind, her lips pressed together, and the single frown that had taken over her forehead from the very second Peter and Edmund had left that morning deepening onto her wondrous instance of hesitation. " _Per l'amore_..." She whispered in her beloved Italian before she finally forced her hand to connect with the familiar wood of the guest doors and knocked a couple of times for the sake of it being announcement enough that someone was waiting at the door.

Indeed, there was a part of her that very much prayed the foreign princess was nowhere near her room, but the guest wing was so vast and private (thus perfectly managed by the kind protector without much of an effort) that, even if she wished she could feign being naive to all comings and goings of the Archenland guests, she wouldn't have been able to; she had planned her visit and accommodations too well for them to fail. The door opened, and where Juliet had been expecting to see the princess herself, there instead stood the young curly haired man of lake green eyes that had been presented as ambassador and Duke; had she knocked on the wrong door? "Yes?" He said, in a voice as friendly as his entire appearance would have made her expect regardless of how it had been no more than a single word.

And, well, wrong door or not (which she was sure was  _not_ given how she had assigned the rooms herself), there was not much Juliet could do than lower a short respectful curtsy before daring to speak at all. "Good day, sir." Even the single smile that lifted her lips refused to reach her eyes. "I come in search of the Princess of Archenland, for I wished to introduce myself to her long prior, yet my duties have kept me occupied." Oh, how she hated herself for being so easily able to lie the way her mother did towards people she disliked; but it truly wasn't as if she could simply confess to having been wary of Narnia's guests for the very reason they had come in the first place. She breathed, "My name is Juliet Capulet," she continued for the sake of her own sanity. "I am Head of—"

" _You're_  Juliet Capulet?" The young man interrupted her with the short echo of disbelief, a pretty, yet foreign accent, and equal elation as his brows nearly disappeared into the wild mop of curls that adorned his head and his hand moved to open the door slightly further. " _The_  Lady Juliet Capulet?" He wondered within the surprise that had firstly left his almost full lips, "Juliet of Birth and the Helpless, The First Immortal, she who became the first true Narnian by the will of Aslan?"

They were all words foreign to her for anything other than her name and Aslan's, and the mere bafflement of her disposition made it clear enough by the short stutter of her wondrous lips as she attempted to forbid the derailment of the small script she had written in her head for how the encounter should go; as it was, the fact that it had been the Duke instead of the Princess had already been enough of a wrongful move, now this? "A-aye, sir, Juliet Capulet be my name," she confessed for the single truth she could admit to regardless of how she had never heard of another carrier of her name in Narnia, "but I pray thee, pardon me, for I know not of what thou speakest; the only titles I here hold are Lady Head of Household and Protector to the Valiant Queen, the former for which I blame my vi—"

"It  _is_ you." The other interrupted again with a smile so parting of a breathed scoff of joy that it would have been contagious if it weren't for the day and circumstance. "We had all heard of your humility and humbleness, but I ne'er believed it." He paused, swiftly moving aside in a short bow that shocked the protector further yet intended to welcome her within the room at once. "Please, do come in; Princess Juno will be so glad to meet you, she is further in within her private drawing room." Finally, he stood, yet his eyes simply refused to look away from her in such a way that it made her feel as much inadequate as concerned over what exactly it was he believed she was; after all, sure, she had already realised she was not no one to the Pevensies, who so loved her dearly enough to allow her almost anything she wished for (not that she ever asked for anything regardless of how they encouraged her to), but anyone else outside of Cair Paravel? Who was she to them?  _You have become a friend to this land, and you are essential to its future._

Any echo of a reply became stuck within her throat, and nothing she did or attempted to say could truly change that; it was only for it that she simply gulped, found the comfort of her nerves satiated by the tight hold of her fidgety fingers upon her skirts, and entered the room for the sake of the very purpose she had set upon herself by the breaking of that day. The door closed behind her by the hand of the Duke, and she was thereafter swiftly led deeper and further in to the part of the guest chambers that had nothing to do with sleeping and more to do with relaxing, reading, or speaking; as she passed by pretty white statues, paintings and intricate gold designs along many of the walls, she couldn't help but feel thankful to those that worked for her for truly making the room as perfectly inviting as she would have made it look herself. She had to remind herself to thank them all later, maybe show her gratitude with much more than words; perhaps a private dinner for them all, a small celebration where—"Your royal highness," Said Duke Lark towards the beautiful brown topaz skinned princess who had been focused on a little book in her hands, thus pulling Juliet out of the small thankful reverie she had slipped into and back into the very bewilderment that remained upon her heart after the words the green eyed Duke had expressed. "Lady  _Juliet Capulet_  is here to see you." Even the way he said her name felt funny; as if it were a gift set upon his lips to speak, or a song to be chanted for all to hear.

It didn't entirely  _feel_  right; and as if such an action alone had not been enough to make her feel much more inadequate than when the Pevensies themselves had reacted to the fact that she was real at all (cursed be that playwright who had made a version of her life story known on Earth), then the almost immediate surprise, joy, and, dared she think it, reverence that crossed the princess' features suddenly  _was_. "I can't believe it." The brown eyed royal said with an accent Juliet could not place yet matched the Duke's own as she stood from the couch she had rested on and set the book down against the place she had occupied moments prior. " _The_  Juliet Capulet standing before me."

It was enough. "I wouldst but pray thee stop saying my name thus," Her eyes ever looked in the Duke's direction for a short second before returning to the Princess' smiling features again, "I swear, I am nay'r more than the Lady meant to make thee comfortable within this castle, thy home."

"My, you really  _are_ as modest as they say." Echoed Princess Juno almost even on the same note the Duke had used to speak of Juliet's humility, walking gracefully and happily in the protector's direction with that smile across her lips appearing to be unable to disappear. "Because, you  _are_  Juliet Capulet, are you not?" She paused. "The immortal that was the first true created Narnian to breathe air, she who has been here since the day of creation, is that not true?"

Come the end of that conversation, the young Italian truly would end up claiming she hated her name; but, at least upon that moment, she couldn't even truly do more than wonder deeper into the titles Duke Lark had spoken when they were so clearly truly meant to be given to her, because she  _was_ the very Juliet they both spoke of, unless there was someone else of the same name that had lived through the same thing she had; how probable was that? "I knew such a part of my story was known, that I admit," she nodded in defeat and that frown still deep in place over the continuous bewilderment of the admiration and even reverence she could continue to see in both the princess, and the duke. "But; and I beg thee: pardon my forwardness, your highness; wherefore speakest thou as if I were of a position higher than thou? As if I were a star up from the heavens come to stand before thee, or... or as if I were a myth, or a tale come to be proven true?" She paused. "I am but a girl; aye, immortal as thou claimeth, but human... no better than anyone in this world, much less higher than thy royal highness, for I swear, I am just a Lady, and I hath come here today for nay'r more than that: I am Lady Head of Household of Cair Paravel, and Protector to The Valiant Queen, that be all."

Her words had not been as loud as she had feared they would be, thankfully, but still she felt almost completely grateful the moment she noted the Princess' smile staying happily upon her lips regardless of how her kind eyes fell to her clasped hands for a second long enough to make the young protector feel like she  _had_ done something wrong by being too forward in the end; that is, until the princess finally spoke. "I do apologise," She said before her eyes lifted to meet Juliet's once again. "Of course you are; and I can see it now, else their majesties would perhaps treat you differently, wouldn't they?" Still, she took a short step forward for the sake of the apology that had already floored Juliet enough; but at least the reverence she had seen moments prior had disappeared from such chocolate eyes. "We had heard rumours that you served under the Kings and Queens of Narnia, only I couldn't believe it was truly you, because..." She paused, her hands falling to rest on Juliet's shoulders in a much gentler and less awkward version of the greeting she had witnessed King Lune and King Peter perform upon their arrival. "Well, never mind that. They were only children's tales, and I am glad to get to know the  _real_ Juliet."

Children's tales; what on earth was that supposed to mean? It wasn't enough that the duke had spoken of names and titles she had never before heard, but the mere implication of the Princess' words... no; no, it  _was_ indeed enough, whatever the words meant, whatever the titles intended, she had had enough of all superficial things that could do no more than worry her further. If the princess was willing to let it go, so Juliet would, because she had enough in her mind to add more questions to the pile;  _never mind that,_  indeed. "As I am to meet thee, your highness." She agreed, swallowing and burying away all the curious questions sprung up like flowers within her mind to be forgotten forever if she could make them; "though I do beg thy pardon for my inability to come sooner: the war doth make a busy Lady of me."

"Oh, no doubt." The Princess replied, finally lowering her hands away from Juliet, yet smiling as beautifully as the moment she had greeted her in the first place. "Lady Head of Household, you said?" She wondered; prompting Juliet to simply nod a confirmation before the continuance of her words came: "The castle is quite big, and I'm sure none of us foreigners are making it any easier on you."

Almost immediately, Lady Juliet shook her head. "Oh, nay, thou art dearly welcome here, for it  _will_  be thy home," an easy reminder of the very reason the two even stood in the same room at all: she was Peter's fiancé, and so it was true that eventually, after the wedding, her chambers would move much closer to the High King's. "In addition, I promise thee: I enjoy all the work I must do, for I hold my position here dearly," she admitted. "I welcome having something to do to distract me from the worries of the war, or simply keep me occupied in times of peace." She paused. "It hast nay'r been easy for me to have nay a thing to do within the day, even when I was young in Verona. I wouldst but beg mother to let me go riding in the fields, or help with the vineyards, but ne'er did she allow such things from me." She informed them, not that they had asked. "We were of too high birth to allow ourselves such niceties."

Of course, the echo of her words was not entirely understood by the Princess or the Duke, for there was not a place called Verona anywhere in Narnia, and vineyards were not a word known by any in the land, and it was evident enough in the princess' expression, or the quick means with which she looked to Lark, who, as ambassador, was supposed to know everything outside of Archenland to be able to inform the royals at any moment; to no avail, at least, because soon after, the Princess' cheerful notes wondered in Juliet's direction within the curiosity the foreign words brought her: "I do apologise, Lady Juliet, but I am afraid I do not know these words... Verona?" she wondered. "Vineyards?"

It was her fault, really; she was so used to speaking so openly with the Pevensies, who knew as much of Earth as she did, that it didn't occur to her that someone else might not exactly understand something she had merely mentioned for the sake of comfort to her who thought to be putting more work on Juliet's shoulders. Indeed, the visit she had hoped to make short, and much different than what it had become, definitely had not gone as planned. "No, please, do forgive  _me_ , your highness." She attempted, her hands finding comfort on the folds of her dress with her usual nerves once again. "See, I am from the same land our Kings and Queens came from," She explained, almost immediately noting the quick understanding on the princess' features—who had spent the entire time from the moment she had been told she was going to marry Peter Pevensie to the moment she had been interrupted from her reading, learning all she could about Narnian customs and stories—alongside the return of her very friendly smile. "E'er a different part of it, of course; a country called Italy, and Verona, which was the city where I was born. My Lady mother was one of two important Ladies in the city, and thus, nobility; therefore... mindless of the truth that we owned a large field of vineyards—which are fields full of the fruit that makes our wine—I was ne'er allowed to help pick the fruits, or ride the horses we owned."

To Juliet's surprise, though, the kind and beautiful princess's smile broke into a gentle wave of laughter full of relief and understanding she quickly attempted to explain soon after, "I believe I  _do_  know what you speak of, my Lady." She announced, allowing the young protector to note the echo of her foreign accent clearer than before, after she had spoken many words sprung together for her to hear; "I do believe Archenland is full of these fields you speak of. But we have a different name for them:  _renvotá_ ," so poetically spoken as if in a song that chanted in a different language Juliet had never even heard of; in truth, the mere existence of such a language did no more than soothe the immortal in a way peculiar considering the day and what was going on somewhere not too far from where they stood, because it reminded her that the world, even the very magical world she called a home, was vast; perhaps as great and epic as the one where she had been born, and soon, somehow, everything would be put to rights. "Which loosely means garden of vines; those of which, I too, was forbidden to go into." It appeared Juliet was bound to learn something every day, and she loved it; especially for the short distraction over everything else that it allowed. Indeed, it was the reason of her smile. "It appears we have something in common, my Lady."

"Please," Juliet quickly said, her head shaking shortly for a moment enough to make the tips of her side braid dance with the motions. "I pray thee, call me Juliet. There be no need to be formal with me, I hath nay'r been one to care for such things."

"In that case," the princess began, her hands falling to her sides whilst the light coming from the window made her look specially beautiful for the soft glow of the setting sun on the brown topaz of her skin. "I do hope you agree to call me Juno as well."

A request that would have been easily accepted if it weren't for the rather hasty echoes of shock from the curly haired Duke, who had been staying so quiet for the past few moments that even Juliet had almost forgotten he was there. "Your highness, I must protest!" He even stepped closer to the two, doing what seemed to be the automatic reaction to men's shock and resting a single hand upon the hilt of his sheathed sword. "His majesty, your brother, would not approve of—"

"And that is exactly why not I, nor Juliet here, will speak each other's names in his presence." She soothed the worried Duke, who easily pressed his lips together, swallowing his words, and took a step back once again. Enough, it seemed, to encourage her to look to the young protector as if the short interruption had never come; even going so far as to allow the flow of her words to continue as if even the beginning had been meant for only one person to understand: her. "Besides, you are completely right: this  _will_ be my home soon;" she even allowed a single hand to lift so it could rest on the Protector's shoulder again, "and it is for it that I do hope you will agree to be my friend. I am sure you could teach me more of Narnia and this castle than any book I might think to read."

A friend... how had the visit she had been dreading for days turn into something so positive and kind as a single request of helpful friendship? She couldn't understand, even as she stood there with the princess expectant of her reply, she couldn't truly make sense of it at all; after all, when Juliet had woken up that morning, other than the very worry of those who had already gone for battle the previous night (not to mention Edmund, the beloved holder of her heart), and the expectancy of Lucy's call to arms, the only thing in her mind had been the very visit and helpful offer onto the Princess who one day would become her Queen; she had imagined knocking, being greeted by the princess or her page, and merely claiming onto the very duties she was bound to as her position required, telling her royal highness that any wish she held dear to her heart would be Juliet's hopeful command, which she would attempt to do, or would have those who worked for her do, as long as the Princess of Archenland, future High Queen Consort of Narnia was happy. But instead, everything she had not even imagined had come to pass: from being greeted as if she herself were royalty, to have the kindness of the soft princess turn into a possible friendship she never even would have imagined she would wish to have after losing so close a friend as Athena Ashdown had been when she had died. She had thought to hate the girl who would take Peter's freedom away regardless of how it was for the best of Narnia, she had thought to be only kind because she needed to be, or pretend to be friendly for the sake of her own sanity and the peace of the castle; but to like her? To so softly have offered the princess the use of her first name the way she had offered Athena herself barely upon meeting and have the same gift returned to her... oh, she had not planned for  _that_ ; and while there was a part of her that felt so very guilty over the ease with which she accepted a brand new friend, she was also very surprised to know that, "Of course," she wanted it. For what could be better than not only having peace within the castle, but harmony? The princess was so kind, so gentle, so soft; and maybe, with time, Peter  _could_ come to have true love with her. He could be so lucky, she could see... "I would be most honoured to be called thy f—" But all sense of wonder and friendship went forgotten even before she could speak it, though the sentiment remained within the unfinished word: for suddenly the bells of the high tower of Cair Paravel echoed loudly enough for the whole castle to hear.

Was it finally her call, the very one which would bring Juliet Capulet face to face with the horrors of war for the first time in her magically given life? Oh, that it were, so her own worry would cease eating her within, that it could be the call to join her very best friend in that world and fight for what she loved, what they both loved; but no, the echoes of the bells rang true and joyous against the dimming light of the sun's setting, and no call to arms could be as happy as that. "By my heart," She said, barely a whisper to make all eyes return to her from the very wonder they had all taken after the bells had interrupted her and the lighthearted conversation between her and the Princess, thus brightening her day; for she could think, cursed be her love-sick soul, of nothing more than the very heart she could but pray had returned safely and unharmed. "They're back." And no sooner did the words leave her lips before her barely focused features returned to the princess who looked so curiously at her. "I beg thy pardon, your highness... Juno," she paused merely for the ease with which she had forgotten what she had offered and accepted too before turning to look at Lark, "your grace." But still, she curtsied to them both quite quickly, holding easily of her skirts without a thought, and sprinted away from the Archenlanders' presence and their room without paying too much attention to their reaction at all. It was impolite, of course, but even if she had tried otherwise, how could she not react thus, when those she cared for more in the world had been announced to be back and the swift cheer of her heart could kill her if it continued beating so wildly? They were back,  _they were back!_

A once silent castle sprung to life, and all servants, guards, and guests filed out of the rooms and towards the nearest exit onto the front gardens and the courtyard where everyone had to arrive from;  _is he safe?_ Se easily wondered as she searched the faces of all those who walked near her, carless of whose body she crashed against, or who she pushed aside. Oh, cursed war that had shown her exactly the place where her heart lay, cursed war that had thereafter served as poison against her mind for the worries that carried her even as she witnessed reunions of friends gone to war left and right; even Queen Susan, who so selflessly helped those wounded into the castle regardless of how she had just barely pulled away from a hug with the High King who seemed scratched but not mortally wounded, thank God. But still, even seeing one of her closest friends unharmed, she could imagine nothing but the worst as endless amount of people and creatures threaded into the courtyard with the cheer in their faces, and the blood cursing down their uniforms: how many had died? How many were injured? Whose blood tainted their armour, whose lives would they mourn the following day? For the love of her God, was he injured, was he dead? Where is Edmund,  _where is Edmund?!_ She wondered, regardless of the ease with which the logic of his welfare could be read as much in the soldiers' faces as Peter's own, for surely he wouldn't be so cheerful if his only brother had perished in the war, but where, oh,  _where is my love?_ "Juliet!" Oh, blessed be the voice that called, for it made her turn around almost immediately to see its carrier and the very person whose wellbeing had left her almost completely sleepless the previous night; for he walked there, covered by a single blanket offered to him by one of the maids that helped the way she had told them to, side by side with his horse. "Juliet..." he said again.

But he need speak no more; for at that moment the young immortal could care less whose eyes looked or what anyone might think of the very actions she thereafter allowed herself to follow, for she ran, happily and with a few tears falling against her cheeks, in his direction and until she could crash against him and her arms would wrap around his neck and his upon her waist regardless of the single grunt of pain he had easily expelled. "Thou live'st, oh my heart, thou art alive." It was as if all the worries of the night and the day had dissipated, so easily evaporated like the sky does to a pond, for he was there, back in her arms, and though she wished nothing more than to kiss him upon that moment, the rational side of her, by the realisation of his safety, had returned: no one was supposed to know they were anything more than simply friends, but he was back, and she was hugging him, and she didn't care; of that much, she didn't care.

"Of course I am." He said in a pained breath as if it were obvious, holding her dearly against his chest regardless of the pain, on his hurt arm, or the very gash near his jaw, which was so easily touched by her hair; he even comforted her, with a gentle hand gracing her back the way he would do no one else other than her. "I thought you'd give my skills as a swordsman more credit than that."

But it was hearing him speak like that, with the soft jests of his words, that truly made her think and accept his return; and not just that, but the pained echo of his utterance, that finally made her let go of him regardless of the short shove against his chest before she said "Stop thy jests, we were all worried." Of course she would speak of them all regardless of how her heart had truly only cared about him at the end of the day... but even then, even after so harsh a realisation of her love, she could not say a thing: many more reasons than simply one stopped her from it at all.

Would he notice the omission, she wondered; after all, she had never been one able to hide her feelings well enough. "It's alright, we're all okay." He reassured her, whether not noticing or simply not making any comment on it, Juliet could not know, but still, she welcomed any word he had to say. "We won, actually. If it's not obvious by our painful joy," he joked, wincing shortly after for the effect a smile had on the wound near his jaw, but easily appearing to recover for the sake of a small frown that resonated with his next words. "The Archenlanders really made a difference." And there his eyes shifted to look behind Juliet.

Of course, she easily frowned in match of Edmund's expression, yet allowed herself to follow the direction of his gaze to see an exchange between the kind Princess, and King Lune so formal that if she didn't know they were related, she might have thought they were barely even friends; funny way to react to a sibling returning safely home, indeed, with no more than that familiar press of the other's shoulder, which truly only made the young protector wondrous to know whether if such was simply the way Archenlanders showed affection or if there was something deeper going on she didn't know. "Then all shall not be in vain." She finally said before looking away from the cold reunion to look at Edmund again, who so happily looked at her regardless of the little frown that remained across his forehead. "Thy brother's sacrifice will have served its purpose."

To her surprise, that knowing smirk of Edmund's easily appeared to accompany a scoff of either disdain or disagreement. "A sacrifice, indeed." Even his head shook, the frown deepened, and the single hand still holding of Juliet shortly balled on the fabrics of her dress as if something in his mind were much too heavy to hide even from those who did not know him as well as she; she wanted to ask him what he meant, what it was that made him unable to cast off his gloom in such a victorious day, but before she could, before her lips even could part to utter a sound, he surprised her well enough by the allowance of his arm to rest around her shoulders as he almost even fully leaned against her in ways he had never done before. "Please help me to the infirmary?" He wondered, bringing along a short deepening of Juliet's frown for as much the comfort of his proximity as the simple request he had shortly voiced;  _Edmund Pevensie, outwardly asking for help?_ And it had to be written plainly across her face, for no more than a pair of seconds of her silence had passed before he looked at her again and the frown and worry shifted into mere amusement as he shortly laughed and spoke again. "Don't look so shocked," He requested without the disappearance of that smile he rarely gave anyone else but her. "I want to keep you by my side, and your pretty title gives us a perfect excuse to walk together." Well, she was definitely not as good as he was at hiding her own thoughts and emotions. "Besides, I  _am_  in pain." Well, she could not fight against  _that_.

So it was as thus that they left the courtyard slowly emptying of people, and there left everyone else to either enjoy their victory; as it was with Susan and Lucy, the latter of whom wished she could have fought beside her brothers, but whom easily forgot such a thing for the sake of their celebration; or to be thankful and gracious toward those helpful Archenlanders like King Peter had done, staying close to Princess Juno, and even going so far as flirting with her in ways he had done before with Juliet long ago, because whatever everyone's personal thoughts, the battle had been won, and for now it was all that mattered, indeed.

Because the very victory they had brought home meant not only the well being of those who had fought within the war, but it also meant that Narnia's peace, the very one that would become famously know whenever anyone mentioned the Pevensies' Golden Age, had been restored at last; every other worry could be held off for another day after that.


	29. Chapter 29

 

─ ♚ ─

There was absolutely no reason to so genuinely smile when he was alone, because his personal world outside of his siblings and the beautiful land they all ruled over, had seemed to come to an end when  _she_  had disappeared; she with the lake green eyes, dark brown hair, and give-'em-hell attitude, she who had enchanted him so strongly and wonderfully that he couldn't even remember the amount of times he had made a complete fool of himself in front of her the way he only ever truly did, it seemed, with girls he truly liked; girls like the very memory of some Jenny girl he had met once upon a lifetime; girls like Athena bloody Ashdown, whose very name had led him in an endless spew of letters and words he dared not throw out for the reality that they kept him sane, and instead rested upon a corner of his desk. What else could he do but suffer in silence when he was supposed to be, oh, so in love with a girl he had not even known for longer than barely a month? How  _else_  was he supposed to deal with the grief of losing her when not only he hadn't even had a chance to  _tell_ her everything he thought and wished, but even had thanked gentle Juliet Capulet for allowing him the freedom of when she had refused his proposal? How else but by finding reasons to spend time alone in his private cabinet room and write to her, cry for her, pray every single day that those men he secretly sent to keep searching ever since the words of her announced death had come from his lips would find her, even if she was dead, so that he at least could truly know he had to move on, so that he could allow himself the freedom to  _try_ to love Juno of Archenland, so that he could not wonder  _what if_  every second of every waking day; how else?

But pray, cry, and write, he did, because it was the only thing he could do even as he attempted and mostly succeeded in focusing on the royal duties he so wished to simply ignore thereafter; trying and failing not to think of her, trying and failing not to feel guilty over the truth that he was so horribly promised to someone he only  _liked_ for the mere fact that it was basically impossible to not like Princess Juno; but succeeding on his duties nonetheless. Of course, many a time before that morning he had wondered why he bothered; and many a time he had come to realise and remember that he loved the people of Narnia, he loved his siblings, he loved doing what he did, and thereafter came more guilt for even daring to forget the point of everything in the first place; it was a vicious cycle that he wished he could run away from, but he could not: for the uncertainty, for that horrible feeling in his gut that had kept telling him Athena was not dead, but above all, for the warrior herself. It was exactly because of it that he had even thought of still sending the soldiers out; only two or three at a time, good trackers, those he trusted, because maybe then eventually something would be found, maybe then his time of sorrow and what felt like eternal worry would finally come to an end.

Of course, he hadn't overseen the way his own worry would grow, to see the men he sent returning each night empty handed and with no word of a clue of where the Marchioness, or even her body (again, not that he believed she was dead, not even now) could be; the brand new strike of sorrow to suffer for the continuance of her disappearance, and so on for the month and a half since her death had been proclaimed, but was it worse than doing nothing? Than truly giving up on her for good? Oh, no; no, it was not, for he knew he would forever wonder if he'd given up too quickly, if he should have given up at all, and that thought would follow him to the end of his life, it would haunt him, it would torture him, and would thereafter become the reason he would never be truly happy regardless of the wonders of all else he loved; so he sent them, and he waited, and he prayed, and he enchanted Juno enough to make her think he did grow to love her so quickly in ways that only made him realise that he truly had not thought of Juliet as anything more than a friend, for he had flirted with her, courted her, smiled at her, but never once had he felt nervous or excited the way he always had whenever Athena Ashdown had been around; he had smiled, laughed at her jokes, even come to think of the protector's eyes as pools of amber he could get lost in, but never once did his heart jump at the sound of her voice, never once did his thoughts make him so nervous he stuttered, or stumbled or... or anything he could so fondly and even embarrassingly remember he had done in front of Athena at least once or twice. And so he was with Juno, smiling at her, finding the beauty in her long brown locks, deep chocolate eyes and soft brown skin, but never once feeling the jumps of his heart when she spoke like he had endlessly felt with the lost warrior, never once finding the other so necessary to breathe and smile as he had done with Athena at all; and what was worst of all was that he had not even truly known what he felt until it was much too late.

He had known he liked her, he had known he may even had had a fancy to her he would not admit to anyone, but love? No. Perhaps he had been too scared to admit it even to himself, but the truth of the matter was that it became so horribly obvious from the moment she had been gone for no more than a day that he even had made small now unimportant plans to tell her when she returned; but she never had, and the  _almost_ of his situation only made the pain thrive through his entire being all the more. What if he had not been afraid, what if he accepted his situation much faster, and what if he had told her? Of course the pain of her loss would have been the same, but at least he wouldn't also have to suffer his silence; oh how much of a fool he had been, how much of a scared fool, and why, when he had no reason to be, or any possible limit when he had been trying so damn hard to give her titles and rise her in position, and—

The knock that came from the closed door made the High King's lips emit a sigh of frustration as yet another letter was left unfinished for the sake of whomever it was that knocked on the door; lest someone like Edmund saw the sad writings again and a repeat of the little incident with him a month prior played a repetition. "Enter," he said, rolling the little parchment so it could join the pile of saddened letters at the corner of his desk and then lifted his gaze to the subject who almost breathlessly entered the room; and, sure, the shaky demeanour of the visitor should have been enough to make the High King frown, but it was  _who_ the visitor was that finally made that dead heart of his beat within the wild demeanour it had only taken in battle weeks prior. "Dreolind?" He wondered as the frown deepened and his feet forced him to rise from his chair with the creaking echo of the wood that screeched with the quick movement his hasty rise had broken. "You're early. What happened?"

Dreolind, the centaur who was one of the two Peter had sent that day to look for Athena in one way or another, simply allowed himself yet another breath before he spoke the very reason the sun still shone by the time he stood before the High King: "We've found her, sir." Indeed, for, as it had been normal for the past many weeks, any member of the guard did not report back to Peter until the day had ended.

But there he was; there he spoke, and those words alone were enough to ignite the High King's heart louder than before. It almost scared him, not that it was too evident by the urgency he suddenly found driving him from behind his desk so he could walk in the centaur's direction. "You're sure?" He wondered, for the hope had risen within his chest, and the only thing that mattered was her, her smile, her eyes, her voice, her... "Is she..." Oh, god, he had hoped, and for all he knew, for all he could imagine she was—

"Alive, your majesty;" Dreolind announced, taking one step back from the entrance to the room and finally matching the frown in the High King's features. "But barely; I pray you come with me at once." He paused. "I fear all may be lost if we wait any longer."

If his frowned deepened any longer, he might end up getting a cramp. "Come where?" He wondered, his breath barely coming in puffs as he begged his heart to slow, lest he become dizzy with excitement and useless,  _she's alive._ "To the infirmary? Should you not be calling Queen Lucy for that?" Could she really be so close to him  _at last_?

But the centaur's head shook, and the dread returned to Peter's heart in such waves that he feared the coming of another emotion for the good of the beating organ and his mind. "No, your majesty, she's by the edge of the lake." Dreolind announced; motioning with a hand towards the hallway he now stood on so the two could leave at once. "She was badly injured by the time we found her, and we feared—"

"You  _left_  her there!?" Peter exclaimed, not letting the other finish and feeling his eyes growing wide with the disbelief that soon thereafter carried him; it was unfair, that much he knew, but his emotions carried him so wildly that even the knowledge of such things did not stop him from keeping the volume of his voice as it had come seconds before. "Why didn't you bring her to the castle? Who is with her right now? How could you  _leave her there!?"_

"She was badly injured, my king," Dreolind immediately replied, looking only at Peter regardless of how he waited for them both to go; after all, he had not been exaggerating: Athena Ashdown was alive only by the streak of a miracle, and even miracles could turn into curses if immediate action was not taken. "We dared not move her without proper care; nor I nor Theoren, who now waits by her side, but we must hurry if we wish to save her, your majesty, she—"

"Say no more." The High King easily requested regardless of the very worry that left him wishing he could just be on his way to save his love already; for he easily could have stubbornly told the other to immediately take him to her, but if he did, then he might be as useless in the process of her saving as Dreolind and Theoren had been for lack of practice and knowledge of injury care: they needed help. "Go gather four of your best guardsmen," He requested, finally exiting his room and moving to walk in the opposite direction from which he should be going. " _Please_ , make sure  _they_ know of injury care; bring my horse and Edmund's. I will meet you all at the West exit." He announced, thus making clear the reason he even walked in the opposite direction in the first place, regardless of the quick "GO!" he commanded in the centaur's direction with enough swiftness that by the time the guard had bowed and acknowledged his orders Peter was already halfway through the hallway that would lead him to the stairs that would take him towards the Western wing.

She was alive; barely, but she was alive; she had been found. Oh, all those days he had felt it wrong to have declared her dead had had a purpose; all those days he had sent guards to keep looking for her had finally shown fruit, for she had been found, and regardless of his biggest fears of the end of her life, Athena Ashdown had been found  _alive;_  of course, the words  _gravely injured_ did not exactly help his imagination, for all he could see behind the darkness of his lids every time he blinked was the beautiful features of the Marchioness' shattered, bleeding, broken, unable to be fixed ever again. So he ran, he breathed loudly and for the sake of his heart, and he ran, oh youthful strength he held which allowed him the freedom of running down many stairs and up many others without feeling like he might faint after a while; or perhaps it was the adrenaline, the urgency his heart and soul held for the saving of the reason of his daily hope, for he wished her in the castle, he wished her safe, he wished her smiling and walking and fighting, and talking back at him as if he weren't a King.  _Oh, Athena, you are alive._ He needed to see her, to hold her, to tell her everything, he needed to explain his tardiness for saying anything in the first place, he needed her to know, he needed  _her,_ and he—

He couldn't possibly have her now; or so he was reminded the moment he burst the door of the public dining room open and therefore interrupted the happy conversation going on between Juliet Capulet, his brother, Edmund, the kind duke of Archenland... and Princess Juno, whose eyes so easily lifted in his direction and lit up in ways Peter could only feel guilty of the very second their gazes met; he had forgotten about Juno, that much was evident by even his own surprise to find her or Lark Moor there. And he would apologise the way his manners begged him to, he would feign joy in seeing her, in making her smile; but that day, that moment, he could not care less: Athena Ashdown was alive, and she was waiting, there was no time to lose. For it, he didn't even truly acknowledge anyone in the room for more than a single gaze before his feet led him in the direction of his brother, who  _had_ said something he hadn't even been able to truly hear, because all he could hear were his own thoughts and his heart, beating wildly and worryingly for the injured warrior waiting by the edge of the river; no, no, Peter Pevensie didn't speak, he couldn't; instead, all he could do was take hold of his brother's arm and tug like a little mute child seeking for comfort, pull and pray he asked nothing in front of the guests, because if he did then the very emotions he carried would be damning enough for anyone to see that he was not as smitten with Juno of Archenland as he pretended to be. "Peter," Edmund said, the concern evident on his tone as the chair screeched against the floor for the wild movements he had to make to gain balance if he wanted to not fall by account of Peter's pulling. "Peter, stop!" He attempted shortly before a single apology to those who remained shocked at the breakfast table left his lips by the time the two left the room, but Peter refused to stop; after all, he had gotten who he needed; therefore there was absolutely no reason for him to stop: he wanted to move, he  _needed_ to move, to run, to save her, to get her back, to tell her, to... "Let  _go_  of me!" Indeed, his brother kept fighting against his hold, but even weak as he felt Peter could not let go; time was not enough, and they had already taken much too long to leave, there was no time for explanations, no time for words, no time for—"Peter, what the hell, let go of me! What's gotten into you?!"

"Athena is alive." It was all he could do, all he could say without even truly saying anything else, simply pulling his brother along and praying that Dreolind was already waiting with the other guardsmen and the horses, pray that the Marchioness could hold on a little longer, that it was not too late. He couldn't say anything more, because another word was another second lost, and he did not have the privilege of having extra seconds; at least Edmund had stopped trying to pry his arm away.

It was no surprise he had, actually, for the very shock of Peter's words as much as the very actions that had surprised him upon that pleasant breakfast had basically frozen him too; in fact, it didn't take him long to put the pieces together, or to process the simplicity of the other's announcement: Athena was alive, he had said, and if he had said so was because he had proof, and if he had proof... "Holy shit." It meant that they were now on their way to rescue her.

Could it be? Could his only best friend truly be alive? And where? Oh, he had so many questions, but he dared not ask them; indeed, he finally understood Peter's urgency as it had come: indeed, he would get a best friend back, but Peter? He would end up rescuing the girl he loved. He dared not ask another thing, and instead, he ran, pulling his arm away from Peter's hold, and not even questioning the other's actions any longer: they had a Narnian in peril to rescue at once.

♦

It was way too far; much further than Peter had made it sound, and Edmund's worry was starting to get the best of him. Not only because the way Dreolind had had to explain to him (since Peter had refused to say a word from the moment the left the castle) had made Athena's position sound dreadful and as if she were barely hanging by a thread, but because it was much further than he was comfortable going after the entire confrontation with Ettinsmoor; hell, it was bordering the edge of each country, and the further into the woods they went the more Edmund worried. "It's this way," the centaur at the head of the group told them, guiding them as he had from the moment they had even entered the woods; but even by that reassurance, everything in Edmund's mind made him feel much more worried than the previous moment, because they were so dangerously close to the Ettinsmoor border that the very hope he had begun feeling by the beginning of their little rescue mission ended up turning into worry and dread.

And in truth, they were all going much too slowly, for his taste; what if that slowness caused them an ambush, what if they weren't being careful enough, what if... He had to stop; speculating would get him nowhere. "Could you go a little faster, Phillip?" He asked his horse as his eyes returned to the front of the group after the calculating gaze he had given his surroundings had found a close; his heart beat faster with the worry of the moment, the concern of just what could jump out at them and catch them unguarded, and again, it felt as if they moved much too slowly.

But it seemed not, for the voice of his well known horse reached him kindly and amusingly enough to at least allow a small smile to lift his lips. "I'm trying my best, sire," Even his breath seemed to change slightly as he rounded left in the direction the rest moved, following the lead of the centaur who had delivered the news of Athena's discovery, because speaking and galloping was not as easy as it sounded. "You're a little heavier than when you were a child." Indeed, the words were amusing enough to make the Just King's lips break in the short puff of a breathed laughter that showed by a small cloud that escaped his lips, thankful for the small light respite from the worries of his mind as the cold edges of the Owlwood continued to stretch around them; but even such a moment was not enough to shake him from the very urgency he felt to cross into a less exposed area as soon as possible; because Athena was waiting, yes, but also because the war with Ettinsmoor had been won, and still he would not be surprised to find a few stubborn rebels still waiting to win. After all, if the positions had been reversed,  _he_ would absolutely refuse to give up on the safety of Narnia, he would fight, scream, kill,  _die_  for the world he loved and ruled, and no one, not even his siblings, perhaps not even Juliet, could stop him from trying to save it. So if he thought that, why should someone from the losing side not think the same of the country they fought for?

Especially as the warmth of summer began to disappear the deeper they went into the woods, thus bringing shivers down Edmund's spine as much as he could see the weariness of everyone around him; even Phillip seemed to tremble under him, and the only thing Edmund could do was frown. Peter's horse whinnied and even jumped a little, finding even the High King's words hard to soothe him, but still, they went along; their surroundings grew blurrier for the fog that the late afternoon had begun to form, and thus Edmund's mind grew darker, his senses alert, his heart in his throat, and that frown that had found home upon his forehead the moment he had begun feeling wary deepened even more. They were so deep into the wood that the only sounds that followed them were the hooves of the horses and the five centaurs that accompanied them as they walked down the rocky, dry ground; somewhere in the depth of the forest a bird sang, an animal loudly called, and the echoes of water dripped all the way to where they stopped.

Yes, they had stopped, because, at the very sound of the water Edmund noted, Peter called a halt to the small group, and thereafter dismounted his horse; it didn't feel right, in fact, it felt too easy, too quick regardless of the many hours they had spent trotting to the destination, and it was for it that the Just King refused to follow Peter's suit and instead motioned to the others to follow closely behind the High King as his eyes focused upon the many different places he could think anyone could use for hiding to ambush them at last; he saw the nearest trees, the bushes, the small mountains of rock much further than he liked even through the fog that seemed to barely break by the place where Peter had walked; indeed, it all looked fine, and the truth was that he did feel much safer on the ground, where he could easily reach for his swords and fight if needed than on Phillip, who he would worry to defend if he had to fight atop him. Thus, with a heavy breath of resignation, finally Edmund dismounted too, keeping his familiar horse at his side, and finding himself unable to let go of the frown that followed him until the moment he walked side by side with Peter at last. "If we find her," he whispered, for no more than the truth that he feared any loud noise would provoke the very ambush he had feared for a while; but still, even the whispered notion did not save him from the deadly stare he noted Peter had sent him when he looked at him again; surely at the horrible use of his words, but, well, could anyone  _blame_ him for worrying a little more than anyone else? No; he had used to right words. " _If_ we find her," for all he knew, it could be a trap: "We'll need to be as quiet, and as quick as we can. The Ettins  _are_ smart," he paused. "She could be used as bait."

It wasn't the most sensitive thing he had ever said, but even the promise of getting his best friend back was not enough to make him lose sight of what had only happened a few weeks prior, and not him, nor any deadly look from Peter would make it otherwise; not that his brother wouldn't try, or at least he assumed such for the harsh way in which he turned in place and parted his lips; but before he could actually say a word, the echoes of distant heavy breathing reached everyone's ears. As it tends to happen when a brand new noise joins the situation, everyone of the seven in the group began looking to one another, wondering, if anything, if perhaps the source of the breathing was one of them; but, god, it wasn't, and that alone was enough to have Edmund's heavy heart beating more wildly than before. "Do you hear that?" Peter wondered, as if he hadn't just been witness to everyone else's searching for the source of the sound.

But Edmund couldn't blame him; if he'd lost Juliet for months and suddenly heard she was alive and well... he cleared his throat; it wasn't the same, not at all. "Yeah, we hear it." He said, pushing all other thoughts away and tugging at Phillip's reins for the sake of his protection as much as the continuance of their walk towards the echoes of the water running freely somewhere near.

"Do you think—" Peter began, the echoes of expectancy and wonder printed perfectly within his voice.

Edmund couldn't stand it, "Try not to get your hopes up, Pete." He said, regardless of just how absolutely up his own hopes were; after all, it was not every day he got the opportunity to get his best friend back, the only person outside of his family (and now Juliet) that understood him and didn't judge him for his past, that treated him as something more than just a King; yeah, his hopes were up, but the sort of disappointment he would get if it all ended up truly being nothing more than a trap was  _nothing_ compared to the horror and devastation Peter would feel if that happened.

Still; it seemed two could play the denial game; because "I'm  _not"_  said Peter, regardless of the very evident truth that his hopes were so very clearly as up as Edmund's own.

Of course, the Just King was not fooled, and it showed by the single raise of a brow he directed at Peter entirely before the High King turned around and began walking in the direction of the hopeful sound; breaths or not, Edmund still didn't trust the situation entirely. They walked on regardless, carefully, silently, nothing but the squishing of their feet against the wet ground, and the heavy breathing that served as their guide echoing in the path they trailed; and it was that silence that brought Juliet and the very thought he had fought against even as recently as a few moments prior into his mind once again. He had known for months how absolutely crazy Peter was for the missing warrior they now so heartily hoped to find; after all, he had seen the letters, he had seen the worry in his eyes, the absolute devastation that combined with anger the moment the announcement of her proclaimed death had to be made; he had seen it, almost even felt it when he attempted to comfort Peter and he almost completely refused to be comforted at all. In fact, in ways he even felt the true horror of his grievances when the mere thought of the limit of time he and Juliet were very aware of approaching came into his mind; he could feel himself getting angry, hating the rules, hating even her  _righteousness_  for thinking he deserved a life he didn't even care to  _care_ for when he only wanted her by his side; and he hated his doubt, for the mere wonder that nothing he felt could ever be truly felt by her alike; but what exactly  _did_ he feel? God, the answer was at the very tip of his tongue but he dared not acknowledge it; how could he, when the possibility of it taking over him so strongly was almost a given if he acknowledged it at all, and what good would it do, when— _Holy shit._ He thought and thus interrupted the very river of enlightenment that he'd basically been drowning in, because a single droplet from a nearest tree fell at the top of his head, thus encouraging him, and becoming enough to make him look up wondrously with that frown still in the middle of his forehead and finally see that the source of the heavy breathing hadn't only gotten so much closer but was finally  _there,_ visible, broken, real.

Indeed, laying on the muddy ground was Athena Ashdown herself, but at the same time it was not her; it was a shattered version of the girl Edmund Pevensie had sparred and joked with, a barely living version of the one who had teased her so constantly about Juliet Capulet, a broken shell of the girl he had so heartily admired and cared for that even his own breath became stuck in the middle of his throat. And if he saw that through the bleeding, scarred shell of a person laying on the ground, he couldn't imagine what it was Peter then saw; no, that was a lie, he  _could_ imagine, he could already feel the effects of what his imagination could bring: his heart was shattering into a million tiny pieces, when suddenly the body of the girl on the floor stopped being that of Athena, but the very girl of amber eyes and curly brown hair he had left shocked at the breakfast table many hours before.

The echo of Peter's sword hitting the muddy ground thankfully stopped him from saying the very name he had thought, and the image before him changed into the reality once again: Athena lay there, breathing like the echoes of an inexperienced runner might bring at the dash from a deadly enemy for the sake of survival; she coughed, and even those held a wet sound that left Edmund almost completely frozen; and the blood, there was so much blood resting like a pool of its own under her entire frame that was so absolutely lethal he couldn't help but let go of Phillip's reins and walk the few steps Peter had ran in her direction; but where was all that blood coming from? She had scratches everywhere, the hair that had once been a beautiful brown now seemed tainted into a deep black that revealed itself to be red from the blood flow under her, and the bruises... he had never seen so many bruises on her, and her leg; oh, that's where it was: there was a giant gash upon her leg that seemed so black it seemed impossible, and the blood flowed from there, slowly, but surely within the soft bubbling motion from the evidently infected wound and down onto her shattered trousers and the cold ground under her; not even the heat of the near summer could warm that ground at all. "Athena," Peter said, nothing more than a whisper no one other than Edmund and perhaps Theoren, who stood close by her side in protection, could hear; god, there was so much blood. " _My love_ , wake up."

Almost immediately, at the sound of such a word, Edmund's eyes moved away from the shattered girl and towards his brother, who so clearly smiled at Athena as if she were the light of his life, as if the entirety of the world rested in her lips, her eyes, as if every wrong in the world had suddenly been put right by the mere echo of her breathing, regardless of how rough it sounded, as if...  _my love;_ no, there was no way. He didn't... he couldn't; it was impossible, or so he said to himself, but the truth was that he had known it long ago, as much for Peter as for himself, and that very thought was the one that led him to look at Athena once again with nothing other than the deep frown adorning of his forehead as anything to show for his joy at having found his best friend bleeding on the muddy riverbank and alive; but whether it was the wildness of his beating heart that had him seeing things or the agony at the vision of someone he cared for so much being hurt so badly, the girl on the floor stopped being his best friend's shattered body once again, and the impossible image of Juliet Capulet laying bloody on the floor met him instead. She didn't move, didn't breathe, and the pretty silks of the golden dress she'd been wearing that morning, which he loved seeing on her, were no longer golden, but red, for they were tainted by the blood that flowed from her head, her neck, her arms, her chest.  _Please,_  came a voice again, but this time it wasn't Peter's, it was his own, for he no longer saw Peter smiling at Athena as she lay slowly dying that late spring afternoon; instead he saw himself, his hands tainted with the blood that flowed from Juliet's body the way he had seen so in many dreams.  _Please, Juliet, my love, wake up._ And the words were foreign to him as he watched, they felt strange, but god would be his witness if he didn't admit... they felt right. Unlike many of his dreams, there rested no dagger anywhere near him, no treacherous weapon to claim he had been the one to take her life, but still he cried, him, Edmund cold-hearted Pevensie as most people thought of him, he cried, he begged the lifeless girl to wake up, he begged and prayed and cried, and shook her as if that would help,  _please, I love you, please, wake up. Please._ And god, he did; he had known it long ago as he had known it of Peter: love. Damned, bloody, problematic love that could thereafter shatter him, change him, turn him into the very boy he saw crying there over the body of a lifeless Juliet.

_It is too late._

A branch echoed its splitting somewhere behind him, and just like that, the image before him was of Peter's smiling and shattered features as he softly held Athena's muddy and bloody face; love... it was too late for them both, indeed. That was how it felt, at least, as a single hand lifted to wipe away the sole treacherous tear that tainted his cheeks by the time he forced his body to move to rest by his brother's side; oh, the unfairness of his mind, for bringing upon the horrors of the realisation and acknowledgment of that which deprived him from fully enjoying the discovery of his living best friend, that who he had thought to have lost forever, but still, the smallest lifts of his lips (whether for the situation or his horrible realisation, he didn't know) appeared by the time a single hand rested on one of hers. A hand that did not at all reply to his hold, and thereafter worried him enough to look at her face once again; nothing, just the rough breathing leaving her lips, but barely... had they already waited too long? "Pete," he called with the broken echo of his worry and his joy all mixed with the pool of thoughts that had claimed his sanity moments before; for the sake of his brother more than for his own, for he  _could_ imagine the very shock and relief that Peter Pevensie could feel, for he would feel it too if it were Juliet laying there; oh, yes, he would: it was exactly the same emotion cursing through his veins; it was exactly the same. "Pete, she's unconscious." Fine, he admitted it, as scary as it goddamn made it for him, he admitted it, but it was no time for such a thing; there was no time at all. They had to save Athena, they had to make her live, for if he was allowed love, then why the hell would Peter, the righteous, the noble and right, be robbed from his? No; he would not allow that, he would not let that happen even if it was the last goddamn thing he did. "Dreolind get me the bandages, we need to stop the blood flow," He sniffed away the consequence of the single tear, gulped, and looked in the direction of Theoren, who'd been standing there near them the entire time. "Help me make sure nothing is broken before we lift her; Peter," He continued as if he had never had a moment to think of anything else, turning to Peter by the continuance of his instructions; he had to save her, he had to save Athena Ashdown, or else nothing else he had discovered that day would ever come to make sense, not for him; he simply let go of her hand and instead placed it on Peter's shoulders, to shake him away from his elation for the sake of her life, to get him to help them. "Come on," he encouraged, understanding, hopeful, terrified, all at once. "We need to get her to Lucy."

At last, Peter moved; at first nothing more than his head, turning to look at him as if he were almost even offended to be shaken away from his own joy, but there was something in Edmund's eyes, probably the understanding he thereafter carried there, that entirely shook him away from the frozen state he had found himself in and finally allowed him to nod, gulp whatever thoughts Edmund could only imagine could have gotten stuck in the middle of his throat, and simply said "Yes, of course." And that was it; the centaurs that knew a little bit of wound-mending finally approached and helped Edmund secure Athena for the sake of keeping the small thread of life she hung on still holding on, making a tight knot with the bandages on her leg so the bleeding could stop at least a little, and making sure the way he and Peter carried her couldn't damage any bone that might have sprained, broken, or could be  _about_ to break.

Thankfully, it didn't take long, and with the constant lookout from the three centaurs that were not helping, the group of now nine begun to make their way back to Cair Paravel by the first and really early signs of twilight. This time, though, they galloped and went as fast as every centaur and horse could go; one of Edmund's swords was drawn, just in case, and Peter's arms refused to let go of Athena's broken body even if he tried to keep the direction of his horse alike; and then it began to rain.

Still, the only thing Edmund Pevensie could even come to think of was the simplicity of the truth he had uncovered by the most unfair of ways, the very truth that he had known and had denied, the one that had led him so wonderfully to miss  _her_  endlessly, to wish for nothing more than her whenever he could even think of anything outside of his duties, and even within: love. May Aslan help him, but he was in love with Juliet Capulet, and when, oh, when had that even happened? He didn't even want to think about it, because the prospect of the time such a thing had been true utterly terrified him. One thing was having feelings for her, even lusting for her the way any teenage boy would lust for a girl when his hormones started taking hold of him (not that he knew the reason for  _that_ exactly, but he'd read enough), but a whole other one was... love. But oh, he did, he loved her, and it scared him; he loved her and he wanted to scream about it; he loved her and regardless of the endless fears that had kept him in a state of denial for so long, he wanted her to know, he  _needed_ her to know.

He could remember Peter's letters, the way he had mourned, the way he had seemed to have something other than Athena's loss weighing down on him, and he didn't know what that was, but he could guess: the very thing that the version of him in that horrible daydream of his had spoken and begged Juliet to know,  _I love you; t_ he same thing Peter himself had been unable to keep to himself by the very moment he even became able to touch her and see her,  _my love_. He had never told Athena, just like Edmund, for one reason or other (denial, he was now in denial about  _that_ ) had never even thought of telling Juliet any such a thing; and what if, indeed: what if something as horrible as what had happened to Athena came to happen to Juliet? Would he then be okay with having to live with the regret of never telling her his truth? Would he be begging at her deathbed to wake up just so he could say it one time? Sure, with her, it was different: Juliet was immortal, thus one death would never be permanent, but still, what could be the point of waiting if the truth was loud and explainable upon his head? He was no good with words, sure, but  _god,_ he had to try, he had to do  _something_ ; he couldn't possibly make the same mistake Peter had made of not telling her in time and thus live with the consequences when it was too late, as it now had become for his oldest brother for the mere truth that his hand was promised to another. No, no, indeed, Edmund could not wait until then; for what if something like that happened to him too, what if  _he_ was the one that died before she knew anything, what if something happened to make him unable to tell her physically one way or another,  _what if_?

He hated that single question; there was no reason for him to wait for something else to happen when he knew the truth already and so loudly. No, indeed, no reason to wait, and it was exactly for that very truth that the Just King made up his mind about it as soon as the hooves of his horse hit the familiar grounds of Cair Paravel: As soon as he could be sure Athena was taken care of, as soon as he knew he was no longer needed for that situation, he would find Juliet Capulet and he would let her know everything once and for all. He would tell her...

Oh, he would tell her of his undeniable gut wrenching, fear inducing, head spinning truth of  _love._


	30. Chapter 30

─ ♚ ─

It had begun to rain; as if their own worry was not enough to topple them over in one way or another. After all, not Peter nor Edmund had said a thing before their rather sudden and wordless departure; in fact, it had been enough to leave Juliet Capulet completely distracted for the rest of the day with enough force that she had had to tell Susan and Lucy. It wasn't enough that Peter had come into their little breakfast without even a word of warning or a single hello to the woman he was supposed to marry in a few months, not even the pretence of politeness had shown upon his face; nothing but the very urgency that had led him to pull Edmund away so harshly and wordlessly regardless of the Just King's words of complaint. All she had been able to do was look in Juno's direction with the very frown that even she wore upon her features, and wonder exactly what it was that the High King had said to even make the loud complaints from Edmund to come to a stop. And so she had forced herself to finish the little breakfast with Princess Juno and the Duke in the most natural of ways regardless of how the very worry of the unexpected actions remained at the very front of her mind like a screaming signal for it to tumble endlessly over; she'd had to apologise to complete Edmund's own expression as he left, she'd had to smile, to laugh, to continue the conversation they had been having as if no interruption had come at all, as if it were normal.

But it wasn't.

Of course, soon after the breakfast had finished, she had made sure that the news spread fast; not toward the nobility or the castle's guests, but to Susan and Lucy, who had each been so focused on their own duties that they hadn't been able to join her and Edmund to breakfast with the Archenland princess. It was no surprise at all that the news shocked them enough to end up worried too, for it was not usual for Peter or Edmund to leave so suddenly and without a word, and before they knew it, panic had spread between the three of them with enough strength to make them unable to focus entirely on the rest of their duties.  _He didn't look right;_ Juliet had told them with her heart beating wildly and the worry of her announcement making the pink of her cheeks become almost red. And so they had split upon the castle with the means of asking those close to the Kings if anything strange had at all happened, and to the frustration of every single one of them, not one word could be given to explain their absence; the hours had passed, the sun had made its warm trip from east to west, and the skies above had turned dark, and still nothing. The Queens seemed as preoccupied as Juliet did, though only to her, for their demeanours remained unwavering, and their intent for tranquillity for the sake of everyone else in the castle was enough to fool every single person but the two they all trusted to the end of the world: Lord Peridan, and General Orius.

But it wasn't until it had begun to rain that any of them finally got word of the Kings at all, for a trumpet echoed further toward the Northern entrance to the grounds of Cair Paravel, and mindless of the endless tempest, the centaur, the lord, the two Queens, and Juliet, nearly ran out into the pouring rain with evident masks of worry and the equal shield of relief to even note the missing royals were safe and sound; of course, first came the relief, but then quite easily came the anger driven worry that led Susan Pevensie to step away from the little group and start almost screaming in the group's direction long before any close detail could be even seen from where she stood. "Where have you  _been!?_ " She began, her hands balling into fists at her side as her gentle worry carried her even further into the endless droplets falling from the sky, "How dare you leave without telling anyone, what the  _hell_ where you thinking, we—"

"Get the medics!" The shaky voice of Peter Pevensie interrupted her by the time the horses and centaurs were even near enough for anything they said to be audible, even against the thunder roaring from the sky, or the seemingly endless rain that washed them all from head to toe. "Get the medics, now! Lucy!"

Oh, but none of that was reassuring, and the relief that had come from seeing the Kings be safe and sound suddenly started to dissipate into the echoes of worry once again by the ease with which the High King spat his requests; the rain was so heavy now that barely anything was visible, and it was for it that even Juliet herself couldn't make much sense of the figure that lowered itself from Peter's horse. It seemed strange, twisted, as if the human who'd dismounted had grown twice in width the way she had seen only in silly cartoons of bears who swallowed a whole human hole and thereafter had the silhouette of that body plainly distinguishable upon their bellies; and the urgency in the King's voice was enough to make the knot her worry had formed upon her throat grow two sizes. Nothing made sense, and if it weren't for the familiar shape of Edmund Pevensie very clearly walking in her direction, she would have perhaps even thought that something had happened to him to make the High King sound so urgently concerned. "What happened?" Lucy wondered merely seconds after Peter had spoken, because the truth was that Juliet's attention to detail had only truly taken no longer than a second or two to make.

"Your cordial!" Peter called, "Lucy, where is your cordial?" Peter called, and finally the figure that desperately approached the little group that had been waiting for so long in Cair Paravel made sense: it was the High King, indeed, but the strange silhouette that had made him look weirdly deformed under the rain was that of a person carried in his arms; but who, who else had gone with them, what in the world had happened, how...

Oh, but all thoughts broke away from Juliet's mind the moment the face of the person he carried, now clean from crimson and mud because of the rain, was clear. "Oh, dear lord," Queen Susan said at the same time Lucy replied "It's in my chambers," for the sake of giving Peter an answer; one of Susan's dainty hands lifted to rest upon the place where her heart beat, her eyes wide, her long hair sticking to her shoulders like a little cloth of fabric for the rain's intrusion against the style she had chosen that day, just like Juliet's, just like Lucy's; but her eyes, oh beautiful tempests of their own, focused only on the Lady carried in Peter's arms, because it was impossible, it was—

"Athena?!" Lord Peridan exclaimed, forgoing the stoic expression he seemed to have been holding for the past few strange moments and thus ending up as soaked as the Queens had been the moment the figure had even come close to looking familiar, leaving his usually controlled curls plastered against his forehead as the treachery of his tears joined the rain along the wetness of his face. "Is that  _Athena_?!"

"GO GET IT, LUCY, NOW, PLEASE." It was the pleading from the High King that finally broke everyone else from their shocked image; from Susan's frozen bewilderment quickly shifting to the intention of helping as he approached Peter and the body in his arms, to Lucy, who didn't even dare ask twice before she quickly ran away from the group and into the castle, wet steps echoing even against the storm that had broken all around them; to Juliet, whose very breath had caught in the middle of her throat and whose eyes could barely even dare to look away from the broken features of the friend she had thought she had been robbed of.

And Peridan, oh kind Lord Peridan, who cried, and quickly held onto Athena's hand as if that alone could make her wake up, as if it were not slightly awkward for Peter's arms around her, as if he could not possibly get enough of seeing his adopted sister, clearly alive. "We need to get her inside," Queen Susan easily demanded as he attempted moving Peridan slightly or even going so far as to attempting to make sure the Marchioness remained alive as she had learnt to do in the past few years; but, god, not even her quick means of helping seemed to be clear to anyone but Juliet, for Peter's arms refused to let Athena go, and Peridan's crying relief made it almost impossible for Susan to even get a word in; but oh, she knew how to make herself very much heard, because just as the echo of another thunder made the floor under them tremble, the Gentle Queen's voice rose and tooted as loudly as if the thunder had not accompanied her at all. "I am the head of the Infirmary; I suggest you let me help if you want her to survive."

It was only then that the two men finally allowed her to touch the broken warrior at last, and so the plethora of instructions began to break surely against the rainy night; how was it possible? It was the only thing Juliet could even think as the centaurs broke from the arriving group and attempted helping Susan with the handling of Athena Ashdown the way she had chosen to do with any injured or sick; one broke away to take Athena's horse to the stables, another moved to keep the Marchioness as still as possible while they moved, and she didn't even know what the other two had turned to do, but for once Juliet couldn't even think to notice, because all she could focus on was that face: the pretty and familiar face of someone who had taught her so much she could barely even begin to show the strength she had even achieved by her help. After all... she had mourned her, she had cried for her, she had comforted the warrior's grieving best friend for months, and even seeing her then, so hastily rushed away from the rain and into the castle for the sake of her survival; it was no surprise that the protector almost began walking alongside the group that hurried to follow the warrior and her progress for life like a magnet, mindless of the rain that had soaked her from head to toe, mindless of the fear beating wildly within her heart, and above all mindless of everyone else around them that wasn't Athena Ashdown, because the shock of seeing her alive, even if barely, it was too much to be able to understand. Because the proclamation of her death remained fresh within Juliet's mind as if it had been given only a day prior, it remained like the very echo of the unfairness she had very much cried for the night of the announcement; and, as if it weren't enough, the urgency in Peter's words as much as the look on his face had been enough to shake her fully. How was it possible, how could it be, and what in the hell made the High King look as if the person he held in his arms was more than the warrior friend they had all lost? What in the world had she missed, how in the loving heavens was Athena even a—"Juliet."

The word came only seconds after the soft hold that had attempted to stop her steps behind the group that had gone into the castle, and the very confusion over seeing the Marchioness once again had been enough to deepen her frown as her eyes fell to the hand that held her before they followed the trail to the eyes of the hand's owner; still, regardless of the remembered relief, the little frown remained. "Edmund?" She wondered as the second wave of relief overcame her for the evidence of his well being, thus deciding to not pull away from him merely for who he was; but still, she looked at him with the very doubt that had taken hold of her soon after the relief returned, for she could scarcely see the very joy she had seen in Peridan's features only moments before. Instead, Edmund was frowning. "What is it?" She easily wondered.

But it seemed the ease with which she spoke could not entirely be matched by him. "Nothing, I—nothing, I just..." He stuttered whilst holding tightly onto the protector's hand and basking in the comfort her curious gaze wrapped him in, his hair wet and flat against his forehead just as a couple of droplets fell easily from his moving lips. "I..."

"Pray, my heart, canst thou speak?" Juliet easily wondered, finding the very relief she had felt at even seeing him lift wondrously onto her lips regardless of the short urgency her heart attempted; for the image of Athena's scratched face was enough to make her want to follow along the group that had long disappeared into the castle so she could make sure she got to see the warrior awake again. "Come, I will thee," She easily told him, giving his hand a soft squeeze for the short joy she was beginning to feel for the return of the friend she had thought she had been so horribly and quickly stolen of. "For 'tis thy friend thou hast brought home; and I pray her recovery to come, thus we must follow and see, we must help." She even tried to turn away without letting go of his hand so the two could head within at once.

But instead of a willing follower, the very thing that had stopped her before did so now, for Edmund refused to move, and with him, his hand, which held onto the parting immortal with the very urgency that fell from his dripping lips. "There's nothing you and I can do to help her now," he easily attempted, making the girl stop once again and look at him with the curiosity that had shaken her the very moment he had even stopped her at first, even a short tilt of her equally dripping head made such sentiments quite clear. "Please," Edmund continued for it; his own shadowed eyes almost begging her to humour him as the familiar lift of his soaked lips lifted and shone under the light of the quick lighting. "She'll be fine; Lucy's going to help her, and she'll be fine, I just..." He gulped, because apparently whatever it was that he had to say to her was much too nerve wracking for him to be able to speak normally at all. "I just need to talk to you."

Oh, blasted heart of hers that so happily beat to Edmund's tune, for the very worry she had had for Athena suddenly shifted to the one now looking at her with the expectancy of a reply she could barely speak for the mere wonder of what the Just King could possibly wish to tell her that could not wait until the Marchioness' eyes opened once again and all could bask in the joy of her arrival, and life, and...  _everything._ "Aye, of course, we may speak, but—Edmund!" She called, because barely had she even said a thing before the relief that became wildly evident on his features led him to pull her along as he began to run in the completely opposite direction of the open door and the light of the castle, barely even giving Juliet any warning or an opportunity to reach for her skirts with her one free hand so she wouldn't fall or slip against the entirely soaked grass, or the soaked fabric of her clothes, or the mud that thereafter formed under her once perfectly clean shoes. "What thinkst thou, I beg thee, speak!" She wondered loudly against the thunder that echoed above and soon after lit their surroundings in an easy white that made her slightly nervous even as she ran closely by the holder of her heart and her hand continued to be held by him. "Edmund!" She called again, but he wouldn't stop. "Whence doth thou take me?" She loudly wondered as she continued running.

"Somewhere private!" The King easily replied, regardless of the way their feet hit against the boundaries of the private royal gardens that beautifully led anyone who followed them to the familiarity of the astronomy tower, which became so hidden that night by the heaviness of the pouring rain.

Yet it was exactly because of where they stood that the young protector could hold no longer for the mere exclamation that left dripping lips: "More private than this?" As if all were not already preoccupied with someone else within the castle and would thus not look for them any time soon, as if the rain itself couldn't shelter them from any prying eye or ear, as if he hadn't before spoken to her in the privacy of a dry hallway many times and not worried if they were walked in on or not. "Edmund!" She called again; only this time her worry returned wildly enough for her to force herself to apply force upon the hand he held as her feet attempted stopping in the slippery surface of the muddy earth. "Stop, I pray of thee, what's wrong!?"

And so it was that her hand slipped from his for the ease the rain allowed it; her hand had become as slippery as the ground she stood on; and finally Juliet Capulet was easily able to hold her ground under the loud storm that had suddenly hit Narnia without even being able to be a little sheltered from it even by the tower that stood so close before her. Of course, it didn't take long for the Just King to stop as well; soaked or not, because what good was speaking the truths he carried if she wasn't somewhere near to hear them? "Wrong?" He wondered easily and loudly enough for the rain to not hide his words as he approached her again with nothing but that smile across his lips to accompany the soft shaking of his head. "Nothing is wrong." And how could it be, when every single word he wanted to speak could thereafter hold her closer to him if by any miracle of the world she felt about him the way he felt about her; but god, there was also the possibility of the opposite reaction, and even the echo of that small confession became tainted by the shakiness of a breathed laugh which carried the clear fear of the second option.

And that only served Juliet as a source of more confusion to reach deeply within her heart; as if it weren't enough that the wonder of a peaceful day had turned into one of joy for the mere salvation of Athena Ashdown, as if she hadn't suffered enough through the worry of the day while the Kings were gone, as if Edmund's cryptic actions had not left her speechless for long enough that even the echoes of thunder had come a couple of times and illuminated the very bewilderment in her amber eyes. If anything, the negation of a problem only made her nervous, and it showed by the way, even wet, her hands reached for the soaked fabrics of her clothes to hold on to as if it could even help. "Then tell me, oh gentle heart, the course of this path thou leadst me on, and wherefore." She encouraged him, licking the water from her lips and finding her feet moving one step forward for the sake of the very information she required by the worry that could easily echo with the tempest of that moment. "For thy actions worry me, and nay'r may I believe I could take much more upon this night." Indeed, what joy rested within him to make his lips lift so wonderfully but the rest of his body fidget as much as he did? For the truth was Juliet had never seen him that way, and it scared her; it wasn't nerves, though they had been present at least a few moments prior when he had stuttered and spoken, but something else, and every second the rain fell around her and his silence continued, led her heart to worry deeper onto him. "Speak, I pray!"

And god, he wanted to; even there under the pouring rain he wanted to approach her much faster than he then did because he was scared, he wanted to simply hold her, look into her eyes and tell her every single thing he had seen, the pain that had taken over his heart when the image of her bloodied body had invaded his worried mind alongside the confessions that version of himself had spouted to the dying girl, he wanted everything to become clear, he wanted to confess, but even the determination he had felt the moment he had arrived to Cair Paravel had broken by the mere image of her eyes looking into his, and that smile, that soft smile which had welcomed him even when he had not been the one to return from the dead; oh he wanted to speak, he wanted to confess, he wanted to say everything, to pour it all out and allow it to match the rain around him, but... god, that fear; that stupid fear, he... "I'm sorry," he began, feeling the lift of his lips remaining even as he took another step toward her. "I don't mean to worry you, or anything, I just..." How could he even say a thing? The very wonder mirrored within the chocolate of his eyes as he looked at her and even with such a look he begged her to know, he begged the world to make it easy for her to know without a word falling from his lips, but alas, the world was not such a kind friend. "I..." He could do no more than think of how to say what he intended without putting everything in peril so quickly and so horribly as an outright confession, but how? How could he speak without speaking? It was absolutely impossible, it was ridiculous, it was... "It was Peter." Indeed, it seemed an idea had finally formed. "I wanted to talk about... I—well, something I saw—something I  _know_  about Peter."

"Peter?"Juliet easily wondered as the other finally reached her, for her eyes looked for any information they might be willing to share, but other than the returning shakiness of his voice, there was nothing that could explain what his actions, his words, and the High King could possibly have in common; after all, she had seen Peter Pevensie walk worriedly into the castle with the warrior girl safe in his arms, and it was for it that she could not even come to imagine a conversation having to do with him that required, not only privacy, but for the inability to wait for a moment when Athena was one hundred percent alright. Of course, the worry of her thoughts, unlike his, completely showed as much on the tightening hands on her skirts as the very frown that she did not even attempt to hide, for she was an open book, always had been, and at that moment, even if she tried, she couldn't change that fact. "Is he alright?" She wondered, baffled by the course of the conversation, yet following it merely for the exhaustion of her mind to wonder anything else; her worry for the King standing before her was more than perfectly enough.

And if the conversation was not enough, the short nervous laugh that fell from Edmund's lips in reply to her query became plenty for her to almost even end up angry over the very actions that had led her to stand so soaked she thought she might leave a trail behind her if she walked on dry ground. "Yes, he's alright." Edmund finally replied, barely a couple of seconds after she asked; and she was going to ask more, even scold the boy for playing with her emotions the way she felt he was, but before she even could, his lips parted to speak again, "In fact, he's better than alright," Even a hand began to move to catch Juliet's again, begging for the forgiveness of his own fear well enough for her to not pull away regardless of the bewilderment that remained. "He's in love." He continued; smiling wide again, and surprising the young protector with the soft look that crossed his eyes, one which she would be sure was full of growing tears if it weren't for the rain that made her doubt it.

But still, she couldn't understand, no matter how hard she tried, no matter the beautiful happiness in Edmund's features, she couldn't possibly make sense of the reason he spoke of such a thing at that moment, under the rain, why it was so absolutely imperative that they were alone, "Edmund, that is wonderful." She said regardless, fully meaning it, yet holding onto his hand and refusing to look anywhere other than him for the mere confusion that refused to make way for anything more than doubt. Not to say the short announcement did not work to make sense of the things Edmund meant her to understand, because, suddenly, something else entiretly did—everything, from the reaction Peter had had on Athena's disappearance, to the expression upon his face when he had signed the treaty of Beruna, to the near-broken demeanour that drove him as he carried the barely living Marchioness back into the castle: she didn't even have to ask who he was in love with, the answer to that question was so painfully obvious that the only thing she had left was to be glad and equally sad for the High King—but even that did not explain the urgency, the  _need_ in Edmund's eyes as they looked into hers, as if there was more, as if it should be easy to  _know_ the entirety of what he needed her to know. "Why tell me thus now?" She wondered then, begging with her own eyes for him to speak, to explain; or if he would not, to let her go, because even the near summer rain was finally making her feel cold. "What be the reason thy words could not wait 'till later, why the privacy, why thy urgency? I..."

His head shook, and it was for it that her words faded away and broke from the discouragement he attempted. "You don't get it." He urged, holding her other hand and forcing himself to look away for the well being of his own thoughts; for they were many, they were loud, and the very fear that stopped the plain truth from escaping his lips as easily as someone else's evidence could was enough to make his heart feel as if it tumbled and danced without a care in the world within his chest. No, she didn't get it, and how could he, when he was trying to make his own truths known by the means of someone else's tragedy? Oh, but he could not give up now. "He's in love, and I didn't know it until today," what a deeper truth than that could be explained? "I mean, I suspected it," Did he speak of himself or Peter now? How clearer could he be? "When she disappeared, he was shattered, and then—then I saw him writing to her, just letters after letters, even if he knew she couldn't see them, he wrote to her, and—and it was obvious why, it was obvious that he regretted not letting her know, because she was gone, but now she's back, and—and, well, I saw it, Juliet, I did, he was—he kneeled beside her, afraid to touch her, he was  _crying,_ and he was telling her everything—I mean sort of, and—and he even called her  _my love,_ and that's when I knew" he admitted, as plainly as he could, as plainly as the horrible daydream he had had could possibly made it easy to explain, and thus his hands let go of hers only so they could rest gently upon the soft wetness of her cheeks, even mindless of the soaked hair that stuck to the sides of her face like a thick veil as he went on. "That's when it truly all made sense, when the dots sort of connected, and it was—I couldn't deny it any longer, it was so obvious, and I just, I wanted... no, I—I  _needed_ to tell you, that I—that he... I..." No; it wasn't enough, it was much too vague, it was stupid, ridiculous; he needed her to understand, to see, to feel, and...

And he kissed her.

Nothing else felt like it could be enough, so the urgency of his words evolved and merged with the intensity with which his lips crashed against hers, and suddenly everything made sense; the world around them disappeared, and even she could feel the trembling of his hands as more and more things began to make sense, as the dots connected in her mind, and the mere truth of her own feelings mixed within the very confession he had so ardently been attempting to make shifted her mind to the very incredible reality that the very truths he spoke of Peter Pevensie held another name: his own. That kiss travelled through the cold upon her skin and crashed against the very beating heart that begged it to never stop, for her truth was written there as ardently as his when her own urgency finally conveyed the understanding of his words after the few short moments it hadn't: love; that very emotion which she had so heartily discovered by the worry of his wellbeing those weeks ago when he had been gone, and even the embrace she attempted had not been enough to make it clear. She had been terrified, for the very forbidden truth her heart carried, and now there he was, equally scared, equally expressing of his own understanding that even the cold of the rain on her skin stopped mattering at all; she  _understood,_ oh, blessed world _, she finally understood: o_ f course the privacy had been needed, of course he had been nervous and evading, of course he had smiled, of course, of course, of course, it all made sense, and because of it her arms pulled him closer, her lips responded with the heaviness of her own emotions, and nothing, not even the thunder right ahead could make the moment be anything other than the very truth the two would not say but equally suddenly understood: Juliet Capulet, the one who had been so horribly betrayed by the person she thought had been her soul mate, and Edmund Pevensie, who had so horribly been broken by the horrors of his own making, his own inability to forgive himself, and his continuous beliefs that he deserved to be punished... were completely and tragically in love.

But she pulled away with the very break of her smiling lips as her hands held onto him with the very desperation she attempted to convey, and her head shook, her breath caught in the middle of her throat, but still she spoke: "I have broken my vow," she whispered only inches away from his lips, her forehead resting softly against his as the simplicity of her tears mixed with the rain that had so heartily soaked them; because the truth could finally be told: the High Protectors had told her she was never to fall in love again, but oh... oh, they were so very wrong. "Cursed be my heart, but I care not," she confessed. "I care not about a vow, or the word of a few heartless tyrants, I care only about you. Oh, dearest heart, just you, I care only about..." But her words were broken again by the crashing of his lips on hers, and she welcomed them, because at last it was clear that  _he_ understood too.

The kiss conveyed the very words neither of them could entirely say; their hand reached for each other in ways they never had before, and even their steps led them further and further away from the rain and toward the very tower that had rested almost hidden under the downpour, because it was not enough. No matter how much they spoke, no matter how much she cried and he attempted to explain it with a kiss, none of what they did was enough, and it was for it that the moment the King's back met the very door of the expectant tower, he easily moved to open it without daring to part his lips from hers; the door creaked, and the very moment the dryness of the tower rested above their heads their clothes began to come apart. His hands softly on her flesh, her own holding onto him as the very urgency that led them clashed between them and formed a little tempest of their own; they didn't care about the storm, they didn't care about anything but the other, and it showed, with his kisses on her neck, her hands upon his chest, nothing but the sea of their clothes spread upon the tower's floor to guard them from the cold of its ground, but even when the cold did meet their bodies for a second or third time, they didn't care: they were together in every way they could be together at last.

And the reason why was as simple thus: love. Love had found its way into the hearts of Edmund Pevensie and Juliet Capulet, and nothing anyone could ever think to do would change that most important truth of all, Edmund and Juliet, against all odds, had fallen completely in love with one another.


	31. Chapter 31

 

─ ♚ ─

There was something so wonderful about being in love that made the rest of the world seem brighter, softer, and better; it made the light of the sunlight coming from the big windows seem like it wished to wash the whole land clean, it made the flowers in the gardens appear as if they wished to shine into a deeper tone to make the hues of summer become clearer to slip through, it made the soul soar softly along the warm winds of the easing days like a loose leaf flying to freedom in an autumn midnight, and it made the joys of a returned friend feel like the gentle gift of a God adored; it was for it that the girl whose very soul ran undone within the castle walls wished nothing more than to visit the very friend that she had hoped had truly survived regardless of how she and her most beloved Edmund had found means to forget all about her wellbeing for the length of a good rainy night. She had, in fact, been so overrun with the feelings of her new-found forbidden love the day after their adventures in the Astronomy Tower that she had only ever truly had time to focus on her duties as Head of Household and slip into Edmund's room at the end of the day without any one person to even know she had gone anywhere due to the familiar secret passages she had grown to love.

The day after that, however, Athena finally opened her eyes, and the four Pevensie royals basked in the return of their good friend by smiles, celebrations and the near overcrowding of her bed, which only encouraged young Juliet to stay away regardless of how much she had been wishing to see the lost warrior and let her know of just the amount of relief she even felt at having her back; because she could only come to imagine how overwhelming it could be to have been alone for so long as three months to then be so suddenly finally surrounded by friends and family. Though, sure, Juliet  _was_ a friend of hers as well, but even she had to admit she was not as good a friend to her as the Pevensies were; not yet, at least. And so another day had passed, Juliet walking, working, and smiling for the mere truth of what the world had gifted her and the lands of Narnia as much as the royals themselves: love, friendship, safety, family. For the great Marchioness was back, Juliet and Edmund were completely in love, and the war with the Ettins was over; what else could any of them want?

It was the morning after that, though, that the strangeness of the royals' relaxation regardless of the warrior's continued stay in the infirmary finally befell her; after all, the norm within Cair Paravel was that people didn't really last long within the infirmary, for Queen Lucy's cordial of health gave no one any reason to remain within the Gentle Queen's domain for longer than a day to make sure all their injuries really did mend, and yet Juliet had found the Marchioness' room completely empty when she had gone to visit; she had found the dust sticking to the floor, the mirrors, even what little belongings Athena had to show for the time she had lived at the castle, the bed not slept in, the window as closed as she had left it when the trip to Ettinsmoor had even begun; it had been a feat so strange within the palace that it made the protector incredibly curious and even unable to keep the marchioness out of her mind for as long as it had taken her to be able to check that she was still in the castle and her rescue had not been a dream at all. Of course, by the moment she had been ready to check the infirmary again after the few morning duties she carried within her title, the time for lunch had come, and the very subject within her mind ended up weighing so strongly that eventually the words the four Pevensies spoke were not at all heard of, and a conversation that had nothing to do with the time that had passed since the Marchioness' rescue yet everything to do with her health had begun with the endless queries from she who had hoped to make of the recovered warrior as true a friend as she had felt they would have become if she had not disappeared for months.

"I actually thought she was going to be out the day after her rescue, or even before." Edmund Pevensie admitted in reply to Juliet's question as he bit down on the scone that he had chosen for that afternoon's lunch, moving his eyes away from Juliet's and towards his older sister's for the sake of the conversation; after all, Athena's health was barely improving even after the three days that had passed; a fact so strange within the palace that it made it peculiar enough to become a conversation during lunch without much trying from the young protector who so heartily attempted to keep her eyes away from Edmund, lest the very emotion of her gaze became so evident everyone around the table would even come to realise what those amber eyes of hers truly hid.

It seemed to be no problem, though, because not even a couple of seconds later, as Susan's fingers set her teacup on the small plate that was bound to hold it, the Gentle queen replied at once: "She happens to be meant to stay in the infirmary for a week," she informed them, picking up her cutlery to dig into the meal the wonderful creatures at the kitchen had made. "Peridan did not allow us to give her the cordial at all."

"What?" Juliet easily wondered with a newfound frown as both her hands lowered from their path to feed her for the mere shock of something she had taken so absolutely for granted that she had even allowed herself to be lost to Edmund for the entirety of that night. "My, wherefore?"

"He said she wouldn't want it," the High King answered in Susan's stead as a breath of what was evident to be frustration left the parting of his lips. "And he was right," he continued, biting into the biscuit that rested in his hand. "When she woke up, Lucy offered her the cordial, and she said, and I quote, 'each drop is precious, I do not deserve one to be spent on me when there are many people who require it more than I do.'" The discontent of his words was evident as much in his tone as on the means with which his hand so let go of the biscuit so it could crash on the plate in front of him.

Clearly, he was angry at the Marchioness' refusal to be cured the way anyone else in Cair Paravel would have been. "Give her a break, Pete." Edmund said because of it, making every pair of eyes rest on him except those of the person he spoke to. "She probably feels like proper shit for everything that happened with the Ettins."

"Ed—" Susan scolded for the single cuss word that had escaped him.

But all she managed to achieve was the Just King's single roll of his eyes. "Never mind the language, Su, you know I'm right." he paused, setting the almost finished scone upon his plate and crossing his arms atop the table. "As far as you explained to us, she saved you, but you know her as well as I do. She probably blames herself for it for some reason; and refusing the cordial is probably just a way to punish herself for something  _we_ know she shouldn't." Indeed, the conversation thereafter turned into a little argument where Queen Lucy worried and attempted to find a sort of comfort towards the fallen warrior; after all she cared for Athena Ashdown as much as she cared for Juliet Capulet, and any sort of sorrow upon any of them was thereafter a little hope for her to be able to help. It had been a conversation Juliet had started but had barely taken any part in, for the young worry she felt for a girl who could have become a really close friend turned to guilt for not even giving herself the time to visit her for the stupid assumption that she was perfectly alright.

It was a guilt that drove her forth the moment their lunch was over and the urgency of her own duties even allowed her a moment to breathe; and the very instance such was given, her feet led her easily in the direction of the main infirmary of the castle, where Athena was sure to be resting for the length of the week the Gentle queen had said; there Juliet found her, long brown hair loose upon the pillows, face clean and dry, and the lump of her leg bandaged and slipping almost fully from the sheets. It was strange for Juliet to stand there and look at the warrior lying in that bed, because she looked nothing like a warrior and everything like a broken girl; the way the young protector had never seen her, out of her armour, out of anything but the very image of strength that had given her the many teachings at sword-handling and even gifted her the very daggers that hid under the fabric of her sleeves. It wasn't only strange, it was terrifying, because Juliet Capulet did not see herself as a warrior the way she saw Athena, and the simple ability to see the Marchioness so broken upon that bed only scared her for the ease with which she could be broken herself.

And if the guilt of not coming sooner hadn't been enough, at least the one at being caught looking at her with mere pain upon the amber of her eyes the moment the girl on the bed turned to look at her became enough for her cheeks to turn red. "I know; I've seen better days, haven't I?" the Marchioness said, her lips lifting in a smile that only accompanied the short breathed laugh that made her seem slightly better than she had when she had seemed to be asleep.

"I beg pardon," Juliet quickly said, her eyes growing wide as her hands found their nervous place upon the fabrics of her skirts. "I meant not to wake thee, I promise, I only—"

"No, please. I wasn't asleep." Athena told her, a hand lifting shortly to dismiss the thought and falling back on her stomach without even allowing the smile to disappear from her lips. "It's nice to have a friendly face around."

A nicety, Juliet was sure, for the royals had been around from the second she had reached the castle, and the High King had been sitting by her side every second until she had woken up; so she had no lack of friendly faces from the moment her eyes opened until then. Still, at least the worry in Juliet's eyes had not made things worse than she felt they already were. Thus, she smiled, nodded once within the welcome she was given, and stepped further toward the bed the marchioness occupied; making use of the single chair by the side of her bed, which had been used by the High King, Lord Peridan, and Edmund for the past three days. "I must confess," young Juliet began, lifting her eyes to look at the other, who so softly attempted to sit up on the bed without looking away from her. "I would have come sooner had I known thy stay was to be longer than a day."

Athena's head shook shortly. "Don't worry about it, please." She attempted, managing only to half sit, yet finding comfort on the single position; anything other than laying down seemed welcome. "I've been sleeping, mostly; if you'd come sooner, I would have most likely missed you."

A single nod accepted the other's attempts at reassurance, even if some part within the protector's mind continued to welcome the short guilt that had claimed her from the moment she had found the warrior's room empty. "Feelst thou alright?" She wondered instead, because she knew it would not help either her or Athena to insist on the need of an apology for her absence in the name of the friendship the two had begun to form with as little time as they had been allowed before the warrior had gone. "Aside from the pain I can only imagine thou must feel upon thy leg." She continued, even going so far as to moving the chair closer to the bed for the sake of both their comfort.

A sense of comfort which Athena seemed to equally easily find by the gentle hold upon her sheets and the thankful gaze that so kindly rested on Juliet's face, "I'm glad to be home." She admitted with a little nod that easily let her attempt to reassure the protector as much as she had done for the High King before. "I didn't think I would make it, but here I am." Was that sorrow she heard in her voice? Indeed, it was deep, it was barely audible, but it was soft enough for Juliet to hear, and for it endless amounts of questions came upon her mind; how bittersweet it could be, how strange.

In fact, it was that very soft note within the Marchioness' voice that only served to make the kind immortal wonder further, because she could remember her side of the months the other had been away; she could remember the pain all royals had shared the moment her death had been declared, the tears in Edmund's eyes, the haunting guilt in Peter's when the roads had shifted and his future rested in the hands of Archenland for the good of the realm; she could remember her own sorrow, her own pain, the way she had cried for Athena Ashdown and the very friendship she had known they could have had, or the way she had served as comfort for the Just King, who had lost a friend who had seemed to have become almost even a third sister. She could remember her own dreams; or the look in the High King's eyes when he had signed the treaty of Beruna, or every morning during their private breakfast... it had been such a long time that every hope of finding either her or her body had almost gone away within Juliet's mind, yet there Athena was: awake, smiling, even primarily joking as if it were her job to make everyone else feel better, as if she weren't the one hurt lying in a bed for the sake of her injuries. And through it all, the only thing the young immortal could think of was  _why_? "We mourned thee for so long, that when mine eyes saw thy shape unconscious in Peter's arms, I near thought thou hath been found dead."

"I'm sorry." Said Athena, as if her disappearance had been her fault, as if she had chosen to go away and get hurt, as if their mourning had been planned all along.

Juliet couldn't understand it, and it was because of it that the wrinkle of a frown finally found home in the middle of her forehead as her eyes lifted to look intently into the green of Athena's. "Wherefore doth thou apologise, my friend?" She wondered, her head tilting shortly to the side, thus making the curtain of her hair fall freely and long until the tips rested fully upon her lap. "'t should be I who begged thy pardon, for allowing mine mind to give up on thee." She admitted within the very guilt that drove her that day. "Though I know our friendship be not as deep as thy bond with King Edmund yet, but indeed, I swear, thy loss hath hit me like a thousand daggers to the heart, for I think fondly of thee, Athena, for much more than thy teachings did mine hand."

And whether it was the understanding in Juliet's voice, or the content of her words, as if to prove the other wrong upon the depth of their friendship, the marchioness' hand moved to attempt resting on one of Juliet's arms, the lake of her eyes dripping with the gratefulness in her heart as her lips parted to try doing that which she had never truly been great at: expressing her emotions in one way or another. "Thank you, Juliet." She said, making the immortal's eyes lift to look into hers again. "You're not alone on that thought: I think of you as a close friend too."

It wasn't really until that admittance that Juliet Capulet finally understood and made sense of her own grieving nature at the fall of the warrior who so attempted to comfort her regardless of the situation: the two of them  _were_  close friends. When she had disappeared and been declared dead, it perhaps hadn't been as if one of the Pevensies had been taken from her, but it was close, and her own pain, her own self-consciousness had not allowed her to see that; Athena Ashdown  _was_  her friend, really. How had she ever even allowed herself to doubt it? "I am so glad thou livest and hast found thy way home." She said for it, a single hand lifting to rest atop the warrior's own, whilst the happiness of a shared smile lit both their faces; a happiness that finally allowed Juliet the freedom of thinking well past the very sorrow she had felt for the duration of the warrior's absence, because indeed, she knew exactly by her living of it, exactly what had happened during the period she had been gone; everything that had happened in Cair Paravel, all facts which she was sure Edmund and Peter had probably already informed her of as far as the hateful fate of the High King and the politics behind it all were.

But what of the time spent apart? What of the many ends she had not been able to tie together within the months Athena had been thought lost and dead, what of everything else she had begun wondering about from the moment she had walked back into the castle after the wondrous night with Edmund Pevensie two nights prior? "May I ask something?" She wondered after the short silence that had remained for the reassurance of their friendship; a question which easily was replied by the single nod of Athena's head whilst her hand returned to rest atop her stomach to ball on the sheets she held. "What happened?" Juliet wondered, her eyes a perfect mask of worry that possibly mirrored all the other gazes Athena had had to look into. "How canst thou be alive after so long?"

It was an assumption well given for the way her eyes fell away from Juliet's too look into the scarred flesh of her hands; they were only small scratches that would easily fade, but still, they were there, and they matched the whole look she carried of the broken warrior brought back home. "It's my own fault," she began, lifting a hand to push a few loose locks to the back of her ear as she forced herself to lift her gaze in Juliet's direction. "I got separated from the battle, and... sure, that led some of the Ettins our way instead of Queen Susan's, but we got much too separated in the end." She gulped, her lids blinking rapidly for what Juliet could only guess was to hold back tears; in truth, if the warrior cried, Juliet would comfort her, as she attempted to do even without her tears and the soft resting of one hand on hers, but she did not. It appeared... she could not. "By the time the defeat sounded, there was no safe passage for me or those who remained in my charge, and..." her head shook. "...well, we followed the Ettins home.

They had Narnian prisoners, and I thought..." At those words, her eyes rolled, and the short sense of wellbeing that she had presented from the moment Juliet had finally sat down crumpled to the ground alongside her frame, as it slid fully to lie down upon the bed again; all strength gone for the very shame she felt as the confessions she made. "I thought we could stop them; I thought we could rescue those captured, and come back home victorious, but..." Her head finally rested upon the pillow once again, her eyes closing for a short moment in which Juliet even thought she was going to fall asleep, but it turned out that shame took a great toll on Athena Ashdown the way a broken heart did for the protector herself. "But I thought wrong," the warrior continued, opening her eyes again and sniffing away the very treacherous tears that made her eyes seem redder than they had been before. "Everyone that remained died because of me, and I... all I did was get my leg hurt, and I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for my horse, who literally pulled me away from the battlefield and toward the river."

Indeed, Juliet could see the guilt that tainted the warrior's heart in such a way that it made her want to push away from the chair and fall atop her so she could hug her; because she could remember Edmund's words that morning, claiming that the kind Marchioness thought to punish herself for things no one else blamed her for, but Juliet could understand. If it had been her, if people had died for the very idea of an attack she had planned, then she most likely would have willed herself to die. She would have expected to be scolded, hated, exiled... and those were the very sentiments she could think she saw within Athena's tear-filled eyes. Almost all of the people under her charge had been pronounced dead, and finally Juliet understood why, but still, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how absolutely badly she wished to be able to step on the other's shoes... she couldn't blame her for her actions, no matter how badly planned they had been. "And all of that happened in near three months?" She thereafter wondered, moving her chair even closer to her bed, so her hand could find Athena's again with the hopes of silent comfort the moment the conclusion of her tale had been obviously given. "Walkst thou from Ettinsmoor all this time?"

Finally, Athena's head shook in a short negation that allowed one of her hands (the one Juliet did not attempt to comfort) to lift and wipe away the tears she could not even dare allow fall down her cheeks. "I walked by the river for almost a month," she confessed, pulling the sheets of her bed closer to her chest as if they were able to protect her from every single thought she or anyone else could have against her. "I kept falling, and getting up, falling and getting up," her eyes rolled again. "I had to take the long road to not be found out, but," her head shook, her free hand finally falling and loosely motioning to the lump her now fully covered leg made. "The infection took hold, and I could barely walk by the end."

At this, Juliet nodded. "Aye, King Edmund said thou hath been found within a pool of thy own blood." She confided as the little wrinkle of a frown returned to the middle of her forehead for the very image that little confession given by her beloved after a long night of being lost in one another had brought into her mind. "A right fright it gave them all who found thee, my friend; but nay'r worse than the pure thought of thy death."

The girl on the bed smiled, even if the beauty of such lift did not fully reach the green of her eyes. "I am lucky, then," she admitted. "That you did not give up on me even after so long." Even her hand shortly squeezed Juliet's, and for that very expression, the young protector could not even help the quick fall of her eyes to the sheets that covered her friend.

Only then did she even allow her frame to lean back on the chair, and her hand to slip softly away from Athena's own. "Alas, I believe I must confess for all of us," she began as both her hands rested softly upon her lap. "That we  _did_ give up, though not entirely willingly." She informed with her guilt written and plastered quickly upon her tone. "King Edmund and I even hoped to avenge thee ourselves, but it was the High King who refused to give up at all; for it was his private guard who hath found thee at first."

"It was?" Athena wondered, clearly surprised by the short confession, and equally clearly as confused; but why? Had Juliet been wrong to think that the royals had informed the warrior of everything? Had Peter told her something else?

Whatever the reason, all Juliet could do was bob her head in a short nod before the confirmation of her words explained it all. "Aye," she began. "In fact, when thy rescue came, the Queens and I knew not the reason behind King Peter and King Edmund's absence." She paused. "We worried, you see, and all was understood the moment they both returned with Peter's guard and thy body in the High King's arms." The very admission seemed to shock the warrior further, and that much only served as confirmation of what Juliet had mistakenly assumed: no one had told her anything; indeed, she hadn't been there with Susan, Peter and Lucy visited the warrior before, thus she had assumed the other royals had informed her of all important things and true, yet to change or hide the nature of her rescue... Should she have perhaps asked what she was allowed or not allowed to say? It wasn't as if the truth of her rescue was something to be ashamed of, at least not by Peter, who had so refused to give up on the woman he loved, as far as Juliet knew by Edmund's words. "'Twas a proper shock," She continued nonetheless; because no one had told her not to speak, and as far as she knew, speaking praise for the High King could bring upon actions that perhaps could save him in one way or another from the very future politics expected of him. "For we had all given thee for dead; and seeing thee alive and... in recovery... nay'r should I speak in the name of the Queens, but I was thankful and happy." She admitted. "I still am. I only did not visit because... well, my duties kept me away as much as the Just King might have, and as I thought thy recovery would come sooner, I expected thee to be in—"

"Wait, Edmund?" Athena interrupted with the hint of a small frown to accompany the confusion that had come from every single one of Juliet's confession; as it was, not because the simple possibility of Peter's refusal to give up on her made sense to some part of her mind that was much more aware of the truth her heart hoped for, but because the rest of the secrecy, combined with the admission that Juliet had been kept occupied by Edmund Pevensie, simply did not make any sense at all; at least not for the way she had left things upon her initial departure with her good friend, the Gentle Queen. "Why would neither of them tell me any of this?" She wondered curiously as her hands both finally moved to get her better comfortable than her own disappointment in herself had done. "Why would Edmund keep you back?" Not that it was any of her business, really; but could anyone blame her for wishing to stop talking about herself? It appeared to have been the only thing anyone spoke of when they went to visit her; and the very mention of her best friend only reminded her of the many things she had spoken of to him before the wellbeing of Narnia had fallen wrongfully to war with Ettinsmoor.  _Awww, Edmund has a crush!_ She had called as they had sparred; and, indeed, that crush had worked well until Susan's ball, but after that, not Athena, not anyone else in the castle had seen any indication that the friendship status (or lack thereof) had at all changed between Edmund and Juliet. Yet the very silence the protector allowed, alongside the soft redness of her cheeks and the many times she now noted the immortal had even mentioned the youngest King from the beginning of their conversation ( _king Edmund and I even hoped to avenge thee ourselves_ ) spoke of something else; not to mention the widening of her amber eyes, or the nervous means with which her hands picked at the fabric of her pretty silk dress; oh, blessed be her brain for connecting dots and giving her the distraction that allowed her the gift to smile almost mischievously in Juliet's direction. "Unless of course," she started once again, her eyes studying the jumpiness of Juliet's own whilst that grin of her refused to disappear. "He found the strength to finally ask to court you."

Oh, blessed love that made her so absolutely careless; could Juliet ever even blame love? Or was the truth so evident upon her every movement that her mere comfort had made her forget that they were supposed to be secret at all? What had she said? She could very well try to think back upon her words, but the truth was, the girl on the bed  _was_  as much her friend as the Pevensies, and if one of them even came close to finding out about her and Edmund... well, she wouldn't exactly try to hide it. Not anymore, because their love had been declared if in everything other than words, and... well... it was much too late. "I'm afraid it be more than that, actually." The excitement became evident in Athena's frame, for she even tried to sit up once again; but before she could even say anything, Juliet beat her to it by the soft holding of her hand and the easy way with which she leaned forward so the words could truly be left only between them both (as if the infirmary wasn't completely empty for once) "But I pray thee, say nay'r a thing to any, for none are supposed to know." She paused. "The King is a private person, and so am I; thus, I beg of thee, my dear friend, may this truth die between us if it must. Many circumstances mark us both to a painful end, and I wish not to make it any harder than it must already be, not to mention—"

"Lady Juliet," Came a voice from somewhere near enough for Juliet to jump and Athena's eyes to quickly whip in the direction of the caller; after all, there Juliet was, speaking of secrecy between them and suddenly someone else seemed to be inside the room. How much had she heard? Because not only was the voice familiar, but the very image of the woman who stood many feet away from the warrior's bed had even come to be thought of fondly by the protector whose magically beating heart felt as if it were to leave its cavity from the shock. "Oh, I'm so glad to have found you."

It was Princess Juno, her hair loose as it ever was and adorned by the most discreet of diadems, whilst her frame lay wrapped in a pretty dress of a fabric that almost seemed to shine all on its own regardless of the windows around them; in truth, for the many things the protector knew, the soft girl of the interesting accent had been the very last she would have expected to be the caller that had shaken her completely. "Why, your highness," Juliet said as her hands freed Athena's and thereafter moved to rest upon her chest. "Though hast startled me, what be thy call?"

The princess smiled, minding not what was to be the return of the confusion in Athena's features as she looked from Juliet to the newcomer with a small frown in the middle of her forehead, and instead focusing entirely on Juliet, who quickly stood up from her chair, and looked only at the princess with curious eyes. "Not mine, my Lady, but the one of the girl who tends to my chambers. She was looking for you."

To this Juliet frowned as both her hands moved to rest upon the fabric of her skirts. "I thank thee, your highness, but 'tis not thy job to bring messages to me; indeed, if she asked this of thee, I must have a word with her, for thou art a princess, and—"

"Oh, no, no." Princess Juno interrupted, her head shaking, her smile amplifying the beauty of her face, and finally daring to take a step closer to where Athena rested in her bed. "She did not send me, I promise. Scold her not, for it was my idea. I offered to bring the message to you because I was headed in this direction as well, I..." finally, she looked away from Juliet, toward the confused Marchioness in the bed. "I was hoping to talk to Lady Athena, actually."

Everything in the room suddenly became quiet, and it wasn't for any other reason than Juliet's own surprise; mostly because in her mind she saw it as unfair, for the promised of the man who loved the girl in the bed so much to wish to meet her, to talk. "Oh." It was, as she saw it, as if she were the one resting in the bed and the girl promised to marry Edmund Pevensie suddenly walked into the room with hopes of talking to her; and what was worse, unless someone had told her (which Juliet doubted, given that no one had even told her the truth of what her rescue had been like) Athena Ashdown had absolutely no idea that... "Of course," Juliet said, forcing the common friendly smile to lift the corners of her lips as she looked in Athena's direction and even attempted a silent apology toward the very confusion evident in the marchioness' eyes; because if she was right... if the love Peter Pevensie held for her was at all reciprocated, then Juliet was about to ruin what little happiness had been found in the warrior's heart.  _I am so sorry; I beg thee, forgive me, my friend._ "Lady Athena, allow me to introduce our most welcome guest: Juno, Princess of Archenland." She paused, willing to gift her friend with a couple of last moments of happy ignorance, as it was evident for the friendly smile of welcome that easily seemed to take over Athena's lips as she attempted to fully sit up once again; but after two seconds, the ignorance could be no longer, and even Juliet's silence felt too heavy with the knowledge she held. For it, she spoke again: "King Peter's future wife."

Indeed time seemed to fall to a stop alongside the marchioness' gaze, which suddenly shifted to look in Juliet's direction; if the protector had doubted the possibility that someone had told her of the many things that had changed in the palace since her disappearance, then she was sure of it now: no one had told her at all. And as if that were not enough, the sort of shock that showed upon the green of her eyes was enough to also confirm the very suspicions Juliet had had about the high king and Athena's affections... it was indeed as if Juliet had been confronted by Edmund's future wife.  _Oh, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry._  "I will come later to see thee again." Juliet told the green-eyed warrior, who almost even silently begged her to stay within the very shock and sorrow that she very easily attempted to hide by the continuance of her smile; yet all the protector could do was beg an apology with the silence of her own expression and a short squeeze to her hand before she turned to look at the foreign princess once again. "Your highness." Curtsy once, and slip swiftly from the room; a room which was filled with the very tension written in Athena's eyes and which Juliet did not entirely feel happy to leave either girl within.

Indeed, Juliet did not envy Athena Ashdown; and what was worse... her time to face the same with whomever Edmund Pevensie chose to marry, whenever his will drove him, she knew would come soon enough.

♦

The silence of the castle worked in his favour, for the very thing he carried felt almost like a ticking bomb waiting to go off, and every single sound that echoed softly upon the lower levels of the Northern wing were enough to make his heart beat wildly within his chest; the brown of his eyes danced at every single corner as he walked, and the very parchment sheets he carried felt heavy under his arm. Because he knew he should not have taken them, so unguarded, so private, but so very important toward the most important thing he willed within his mind; that which he had decided upon the very images his brain had concocted upon the discovery of Athena's body, those where he cried for Juliet's life: if he deserved the magic of love, as it had so been proven the moment Juliet had matched his urgency that rainy night when they'd come home, then his brother, the one who had taken care of him even when Edmund himself had wished otherwise, deserved it too. And why, he wondered, should it be stolen from him by the unfairness of an alliance even his sister, Lucy, did not entirely trust in?

No, indeed, that night, Edmund Pevensie had a goal, and that goal was made even clearer by the time he reached the closed door of Athena Ashdown's rooms; that which, by the very letters he carried, could possibly be prevented, that which he very much refused to give up on for as long as he could, even if it was only for the sake of his own mind, which seemed to find it impossible to fully accept the love Juliet had proven to him that rainy night under the roof of the astronomy tower if it was only to be lived by him; he who had betrayed, lied, and hurt; he who had thought never to even be worthy of something as wonderful as what he had with Juliet Capulet, he who had punished himself and continued to do so endlessly if only within his own head.

It was for it that the youngest king remained, and for it that at the lack of any sound, after the curious wondering of his deep brown eyes upon any corner where anyone could be watching, Edmund Pevensie finally slipped within the private rooms of his miraculously returned very best friend, with nothing but the hopes of leaving the numerous letters written to her by Peter Pevensie's hand somewhere in the room for Athena to find.

If he was allowed love, then Aslan would be his witness: he would move the world so Peter could have it too.


	32. Chapter 32

─ ♚ ─

It was a beautiful summer day, and no one would be able to make it otherwise for the two lovers who so refused to let go of one another even as they lay upon the grass of one of the many private gardens within Cair Paravel; even with the sun hidden by the heavy clouds, the moment felt perfect for them both, for her hair rested wild in waves around her head and his hands were much careless though more experienced than they had been months before, and their lips, oh those two doors of breath which had found a home upon one another refused to part even as the first drop of late-summer rain fell upon the Just King's back. Indeed, the love the two carried in their hearts made every single grey cloud above them seem non-existent, it made them feel as if there were no more than a bright shining light upon them, as if it were the sun itself; even against the second and third drops that fell against his back, there was nothing more than their continuous refusal to part. That was the way it had been for the past few months, where both Juliet and Edmund  _made_ time to be together even through the endless changes within the castle; they slipped within secret places inside the castle, they met in his room, in their library, in  _her_  room. It didn't matter where they went, their hands met, their lips connected in what they hoped to be an endless kiss, and the time the two spent together felt like the very love they had silently admitted to have felt for much longer than either of them could have acknowledged it.

That of course, did not mean that their time together was fully spent doing nothing other than kissing, cuddling, or giving in to one another entirely in ways no one would ever know; on the contrary, for the King and the Lady loved much more in one another than their bodies and the things they could do with them (they had fallen in love with much more than that before any of it had become a possibility at all), and it was for it that many an argument had come to pass. From the simplicity of a book found within his library, to the very stubbornness they also unfortunately shared, their love became one of a kind onto the very words that continued to drive the other mad for one reason or another; in fact, the very camaraderie and outspokenness of the two continued as much is private as when they were not alone, and that, to everyone around them, made it seem as if nothing at all had changed other than the gentle kindness the Just King showed by a simple smile or a helping hand, for his views sometimes riled the young protector sufficiently to speak up loud enough for him to argue, and many other times her actions and words drove him absolutely mad. Of course, what everyone else (other than Athena Ashdown) didn't know was that the two secret lovers resolved their arguments privately in a much more silent way, and thus their secret cycle would remain.

Sometimes, though, on days like that one, when they had had to say goodbye to a good mutual friend of theirs, which were the hard and unhappy sort, the two of them wished for nothing other than to be together for as long as they wanted it; after all, the two had become each other's best comfort, and the love spread by their lips could easily attest to it. The problem, though, at least that very day as they lay on the grass and the heavy clouds began to come undone, was that the place in which they had chosen to be together that morning suddenly became inconvenient for the coming of the early autumn rain. At least it became inconvenient for Juliet, because it wasn't until a drop of rain fell on her forehead after Edmund's kisses had shifted to focus on her neck that she even realised it had started raining at all; it didn't seem to matter to the young King at all, since the first drops had fallen on his back. "Edmund," Juliet began, almost lost in the magic of his lips as the one hand he wasn't holding finally moved to rest upon his shoulder with the hopes of giving it a light nudge; but still, he wouldn't budge; yet another drop fell upon her cheek, followed by another one on her nose, much faster than the one before, and the young immortal had to try again. "Edmund!" She said, this time pushing harder against him so he would be as pulled from their little bubble of privacy as she had been by the intruding droplets that had fallen on her face.

That, at least, seemed to work enough to shake the youngest King to pull away from his playful trails of kisses so he could use his free hand as support to be able to look down into the pretty amber of her eyes. "What, what?" He said, urgent alike the last echo of his name upon her lips only seconds before he even dared look around; perhaps something she had seen and he had been unable to, but his surroundings seemed as undisturbed as when they had first laid down to try and make out shapes to the clouds above them. "What?" He asked again, looking down into Juliet's smiling features as her eyes danced on his and so evidently seemed to fight against the short amusement that lifted her lips.

"It's raining." She told him, a short giggle escaping from her lips whilst her hand lifted to try and settle his wild short locks; and, as if on cue, as the young King looked back as if the sky could show him exactly what Juliet spoke of, a little droplet fell against his cheek, leaving a little trail as if it had been a tiny tear fallen from his own eye. "Perhaps we should head back?" Juliet wondered; making him look down at her again as he finally let go of her hand to use it to wipe away the droplet that had wet his cheek without falling entirely on top of her.

At least he nodded in agreement. "Perhaps we should." He admitted, rolling softly to lay down beside her and thus feel a couple of more droplets fall upon his face; the thing that made him sound almost sombre though, was that if it weren't for the rain, he would have hoped and loved to stay hidden in those gardens for the rest of the day or until someone needed him, and that sentiment did not wash away with the drops that interrupted them, on the contrary. Although the rain was not cold against his flesh, the gloomy mirror of the weather on that day only made him need the Protector's company all the more, but he knew that the moment they separated within the castle, either he would be asked to do something, or some sort of duty coming from the title she held would take her away from him swiftly; it seemed unfair enough to say something about it as he sat up on the deep green grass. "You think we could stay hidden for the rest of the day, even inside the castle?" He wondered, looking in Juliet's direction and ignoring the little droplets of rain that fell upon his shoulders and the top of his head. "We could go in through the Western Wing towards our library," he attempted, removing the loose blades of grass that stuck to his sleeves as he spoke. "Or we could go to my chambers?"

It didn't take long for young Juliet to do alike her King and sit up on the slowly dampening grass with the very smile that had lifted her lips from the moment she had shaken him to the present, even as her hands moved to fix the wrinkles of her dress or push the sleeves down fully to cover the daggers she so adored. "Whence-ever thou thus wish it, my heart," She told him as the pretty amber of her eyes lifted to look into his; that playful grin making her features seem much brighter than either of them could feel apart from one another that day. "For God knows any time spent by thy side is good by no mind of the place it is spent in." Once she was done fixing the sleeves of her dress, both her hands lowered so one could rest on the grass and the other on Edmund's hand once again.

And it was only then than the joy returned to the youngest King's features, as it ever tended to when Juliet's words so formed to make him aware of just how much she truly did love him, even if neither of them had truly said the three words out loud to one another yet; not to mention her eyes, such beautiful pools of amber he simply loved getting lost in, or her hair, which rested so long now that it fully covered her upper arm all the way to her elbow, or her dress, which so beautifully accented her body that alongside the blue one she had worn to Susan's ball what felt like a lifetime prior, it had become one of his favourites on her. Indeed, moments such as that continued to exist, when, as he nodded the short agreement to her words, Edmund Pevensie stopped to wonder just how he had been allowed to love so much; because who would have thought that the Just King, betrayer of Narnia and traitor to his siblings would deserve to love or be loved at all? Not him above all. "Though I do suggest," Juliet continued regardless of his thoughts, almost fully leaning into his touch as his hand lifted to remove a rogue leaf from her hair before simply gracing the softness of her cheek with his thumb. "Thou makest thy mind up soon," She even made quite a big show of moving her head so her eyes shifted to look up at the greying sky. "The rain shan't wait for thy choice."

Indeed, he was lucky, and though he did not truly know how much longer he would be allowed to be as lucky as he was with her by his side, he knew that no matter what, he would be thankful he had had the time he had had with her at all; in fact, because of it, he tried to enjoy it all the more, as was evident by the playful demeanour that took over his features entirely with a young mischievous smile. "How fast do you think you are?" He wondered sitting cross-legged as his eyes studied her as if he  _were_ calculating how fast she could be.

But his playfulness was easily matched by the mirror of his smile appearing dalliantly against her lips, even as her frame moved shortly so she could sit sideways to face him completely and the mirth in her voice left wildly against the slowly quickening droplets of rain. "Fast enough to catch thee if such were the purpose, of course." She admitted with a gentle tilt of her head that only made her hair drop over her shoulder to form a long wavy curtain of dark brown beside her face; though it wasn't until Edmund's smile shifted almost devilishly into a smirk that the young immortal's eyes finally narrowed with the curiosity such actions brought her. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," the youngest king easily feigned as his eyes fell away from hers, his hands moved to pretend dusting off the fabric of his trousers, and a single shoulder lifted up in a shrug; but it wasn't really even three seconds after he said such a thing that his whole frame lifted from the ground quickly enough to make Juliet jump, and he began running away from her whilst calling "Race you to my room!" behind him.

Of course, part of Juliet wasn't even surprised he had done such a thing; after all, challenging Edmund was one she had met for far longer than the playful romantic King she had fallen in love with; but the part of her that had been so relaxed regardless of the intruding droplets of rain that had interrupted their day, ended up making her having to take a second to fully understand what had happened before her voice called behind him "EDMUND PEVENSIE!" As her body moved as swiftly as she could in long trails of silk to stand on now-quickly dampening grass: "THOU ART A SENSLESS CHEAT!" But still, he could hear his laugh, and because of it she did too, picked up the thin fabrics of her skirts, and began running behind him at once.

He hadn't been so far that he couldn't hear her loud words; his mistake, though, was daring to look back to make sure she was  _actually_ following him, because not even a couple of steps later, the young king fell harshly against a bunch of flowers and leaves he hadn't even remembered would have been in his path, but as harsh as the fall was, the echoes of damp grass being stepped on near him made him unable to care; instead the smile across his lips remained wide enough to contrast with the weather and the day as he stood from the grass, not even minding the sting on his palm when it ended up resting against thorny plants as he leaned against them to push himself off of the ground. "Come on, then!" He called to the source of his smile, who sounded much closer than she had even seconds before. "I thought you said you could catch me." It was a source he could not yet see but now was completely sure followed him, even as his feet led him forward and away from the leaves that had made of his fall a soft one.

And, indeed, from somewhere not far behind, the soft familiar laugh from that girl he absolutely adored echoed happily within the bush walls; it was the very sense of Déjà Vu that finally brought a small frown to the middle of his forehead even as he continued to move so freely, even as the smile that had grown before only remained, because the situation felt so absolutely familiar that even with the droplets of rain falling almost freely against his clothes he felt as if he already knew exactly what Juliet was about to say: "Why, I would have caught thee already hath I been wearing what thou art, your majesty." Indeed, just as he had thought she would speak she had called, and though Edmund's lips broke in a short echo of laughter that accompanied with his steps as he finally reached the edge of Cair Paravel's doors, that familiar sense that he had lived that moment before did not at all leave his mind. "I beg, slow down, else thou wouldst make me fall for stepping on this dress!"

It was as if he could remember exactly every single detail of that moment, as if somehow he had travelled in time once, forgotten it, and now that he was living the exact moment he had travelled to before he was remembering; or even stranger yet, as if he walked within a dream, something he had seen a long time ago, something he had lived and not understood, something he had even hated. Indeed, he couldn't remember where or how he had lived that moment before, but the single happenstance of memory only reminded him of something his youngest sister had once told him after reading a book on the matter  _it only means you're exactly where you're supposed to be at that moment_ ; of course, then, Edmund had been so young that he had thought it was all a bunch of rubbish; so annoying he had found young Lucy when she had told him that that all he had been able to do in his short age had been to roll his eyes and tell her to move her books away so he could continue building his little made up city. But now, as he crossed the threshold into Cair Paravel and his steps made of the little game he had started with Juliet into a more dangerous one if they were to fall—for the grass around the castle changed into the floors within it—, he believed he finally understood: Lucy had been right; suddenly getting the feeling that he had lived that moment before could truly mean nothing more than the single reality that he was, in fact, exactly where he was supposed to be at that moment, with his steps echoing down the halls, Juliet's heels nearing their toot close to his own, and above all, their laughter: meeting, joining like a beautiful chant of joy and affection that only helped drive the King forward and even encouraged him to look back. Because of course he was supposed to be there, with her, lost as he was in every speck of her, seeing her hair flying behind her in waves that would make even the mermaids jealous, stepping with such grace that would bring all ballet dancers to shame, dressed in that golden gown of silk and cotton that he had grown to love so much on her, because they were right, they were together, and though neither of them had said it out loud but had proven it every other way, they were  _in love_.

Indeed, she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, with her wide amber eyes shining even as she followed with breathless speed, holding onto the front of her long skirts as to not fall with the many-times claimed softer-than-silk fabric that so sheltered her; her smile bright, making of her more than just a girl with endless experiences on Earth and Narnia, but a woman of dreams, hopes, and the loveliest sense of loyalty any man or woman had ever seen. And her love... oh, her love... it was a feat so unexpectedly given to him that even he hadn't known how to handle it, because he could see her eyes looking at him the way he could have sworn only he looked at her, and it was wonderful. He felt loved, he felt safe, hell, he even trusted her in ways he never even would have thought he could have trusted someone that wasn't in any way related to him by blood; because he had told her almost everything there was to know about him and his thoughts, and yes, they had argued, and fought, and seemed to hate each other for so long, but now... good Aslan, now he knew they were more that perfectly right. That single knowledge alone made him enjoy the moment all the more as their steps continued to echo through the halls, and her calls for him to stop reached him so fully, making of his responding challenges onto her who had taken hold of his heart in ways he never would have ever thought possible into playful happiness he thought would break his heart until he made of his race a final one once he made it to his room and laughed as he closed the door, leaving the girl behind with her simply voiced "Edmund!", the echoing of her steps, and her heavy breath to fall on his ears as he fell defeated to his bed.

What a lucky guy he was, indeed.

Even as he laid down, trying to catch his breath, he could still hear her laugh, her heels softly clicking upon the polished stone even as she stopped right outside his closed door, making of his own heavy breathing turn into the soft echo of laughter once the only thing audible from the other side of the big door was her voice and soon after the gentle knocking of her hand against the wood; had she forgotten that he had invited her into his room already?  _Oh, gentle Juliet, how prim can you be?_ Something which he perhaps had found annoying once upon a time, now almost even seemed endearing; still, he stood from the bed, sweat claiming his forehead alongside the rain that had wet him, and trapping short strands of hair against his skin. "Why, I wonder who it could be." He worded playfully and loud enough for the one at the other side of the door to hear; something which became evident with the short echo of laughter that came from it.

Nevertheless, the moment he opened the door the laughter stopped, and he could see the young Lady standing there with her hands at her sides, balling against the silk of the top of her skirts like she tended to do when she didn't know what to do with her hands (or when she was nervous), and the beautiful golden fabric falling beautifully against her frame; her cheeks were flushed pink from the running, her chest lifted and fell with the heaviness of her breath, her long curls stuck to her neck and forehead from the rain and the running, and still then, the immortal's gaze lowered and her frame followed suit in a short curtsy as her lips, driven in the smile of her dalliance, remained regardless of her two simple words: "Your majesty." They were words which brought a short roll of the smiling King's eyes over the hidden sarcasm at such a gesture even by the time she stood tall once again and let go of the fabric of her dress at last. "I do believe it is improper for a lady such as I to come uninvited to thy wing, but here I am, indeed, for—"

"Oh, do shut up." The King said within his smiling playful note, interrupting the girl's created speech with a simple reach of his hand for hers, pulling her into his room and against his frame quickly enough to cut her responsive laugher short with a gentle kiss against her lips, holding her waist with one arm whilst moving away from the door and pushing it closed with the other just before that arm wrapped around her as well, and the short tumble of their movements breaking the two apart from their kiss to echo in the short laughter they shared. Oh, how they smiled even then, how their followed kiss broke with that lift of their lips regardless of their connection, how their steps led them to his bed until the two could fall upon it, how their hands wondered and made any playful situation as ardent as the passion that united their lips; even as his hand moved to her back in their search to free her from the gold of her gown, even as they rolled upon the bed and her hair became a wave of darkness upon his white sheets, a halo of beauty lit by the morning light coming from the window, gifted to the magical creature he held in his arms and so ardently kissed, even with their continued kisses, even as her hand wondered and pulled the rough fabric of his shirt away from the edge of his trousers; even then with their lips busy in each other's game, their hearts, the most important part of the equation, still smiled. A passion never broken regardless of their slowly disappearing clothes and their wondering hands which united through kisses, touches, graces, until they finally became one.

Of course, within their game of love, time passed outside the window unnoticed; the rain ceased to hit the glass and wet the grass, and the sun shifted sides so that eventually it hit them directly within its twilight course and made Juliet's usually pale skin seem tan under the yellow hues and orange undertones of the hiding star. But it was illumination enough for the two to still see each other by the time they lay still under the covers, wrapped in each other's arms and mindless of the single cover to their nakedness brought by the sheets of his bed; it was, indeed, relaxing enough that even their breath slowed almost enough to fall asleep, but it also allowed the two to think of things they had not spoken of all day and share the comfort of silence for the simplicity of their mutual avoidance of the sorrow and even disappointment the events of that day brought them; a single event, better said, such as had been the departure of Athena Ashdown from Cair Paravel. As it was, the two of them, even as Edmund's fingers curled in Juliet's hair and their breath almost matched, didn't know they were both thinking of the same thing at all, though it made sense that they would be, for Athena was their friend, and everything they knew, everything they had gone through upon their thought that she was dead... well, it made her departure much more painful than if she had chosen to leave truly and merely for the reason she claimed: so her leg could properly heal on its own.

But they both knew it hadn't been that at all: "Thinkest thou Athena chose to leave by consequence of Princess Juno and Peter?" Juliet wondered, her voice barely a note higher than a whisper that only brought to attention the fact that the two of them  _were_ actually thinking of the same thing at the same time; a fact ridiculous enough to the youngest King, given the circumstances they both shared (albeit their nakedness and the intimacy they had shared) that a smile ended up breaking in a short wave of laughter strange enough for the immortal to end up curiously looking up at him as a smile to match his lifted her lips. "What?" She wondered in the same low voice, her eyes dancing on his features as if simply by looking at him she could get the answers she wanted; of course, she didn't. "Edmund, what?" She repeated, nudging his chest softly with the hopes of finally getting him to speak.

And at least that seemed to work enough, for the king stopped laughing for the sake of his shortly shaking head. "Nothing, nothing, it's just—" He released a short breathed laugh that swiftly stopped yet encouraged a somewhat louder response. " _That_ 's what you're thinking about after we just—"

Almost immediately, a hand fell atop his lips to stop his words. "Shhh," Juliet told him, "Lower thy voice, else someone could pass by and hear thee." It was a warning mostly ignored by the youngest King's actions, which encouraged her to only move her hand away when he attempted to playfully bite her.

"First of all, other than at the main entrance, all guards know to leave me alone this far into my wing." He began. "And second, even if someone  _did_ walk by and hear: this is  _my_ room, you know?" Edmund said, catching Juliet's hand before it could return his playfulness with a shove against his arm. "My voice _is_  supposed to be heard in here."

All that did was make the young immortal's eyes roll in response. "Indeed," She replied, simply getting comfortable beside him and using the sheets to cover herself just above the chest. "Thus I must believe, my dearest King, that thou speak'st to thyself quite often?" Her arms crossed wondrous under her chest as her eyes narrowed in his direction.

To her surprise, he simply shrugged. "I mean, it's the only way to be part of a smart conversation around here, so yeah." Something which of course only resulted in Juliet's shocked expression to come before her hands tried to playfully shove him away once again with a claim to his annoyance falling from her lips; lips which Edmund easily moved to kiss and stop from talking as soon as, just like before, his hands easily caught hers and he was able to move partly atop her so the kiss could be as soft and comfortable as it had been before. Though now, with both of them tangled in the sheets the moment felt much more romantic than passionate as both their lips broke in that now familiar smile even along that kiss. "But, as for your original question," Edmund finally said once he pulled away from the kiss and looked down into the soft amber in her eyes. "I think it would be quite silly of me to be insulted knowing you were thinking of such a thing, given that I was thinking about it too." Only then did he press another kiss to her lips, though now a short one, before he moved to simply lay by her side at last, refusing to look away from her at all until he spoke again and his eyes shifted to look at the canopy of his bed. "I guess we can't avoid it anymore."

Juliet simply shook her head, moving in her place to lie sideways so she could face him fully without having to hurt her neck. "Nay, we can't," She agreed, resting her left hand under her head and releasing a short breath. "Eventually either one of us will have to leave this room and face the truth out there." She paused, pursing her lips at the thoughts. "Most likely it shall be I."

His eyes finally fell to look at her again, and simply for the sake of comfort, his whole body attempted mirroring her position as his left hand took her right and his right rested under his head in the end. "You could spend the night here, you know?" He told her, releasing a soft breath as the brown of his eyes studied hers with curious expectancy. "No one has called us since she left, and given the time, I doubt anyone will expect to see us anywhere."

"What of dinner?" Juliet wondered, threading her fingers between his before both their hands simply rested clasped upon the small space between them. "Shall they not wonder where we have been if we miss dinner?"

Edmund's head shortly shook. "Peter cancelled it this morning." Even his eyes seemed sad at the notion, but he kept talking regardless. "I knew we could both slip out unnoticed today because everyone's focusing on Peter and his do-not-disturb policy." He paused. "Even Princess Juno isn't allowed to see him. He said he's got to deal with some wedding business on his own, something about a stag party, but well, if that was true, he'd be needing me, considering that I'm to be the best man."

"Oh, poor Juno." Juliet easily said, a frown finally finding place in the middle of her forehead. "I can't imagine what she must be going through."

But that alone was enough to make Edmund fully frown with the confusion of her words. "Juno?" He wondered. "Why? It's Peter who's suffering right now, having to marry someone he doesn't even love." He didn't even want to think about the moment it would be his turn, to almost be so forced to marry someone he didn't love simply for Juliet's infertility; may Aslan leave that moment to come far away from that day. He held slightly tighter to Juliet's hand.

"Aye, but 'tis the princess that hast become an unwilling participant." She released a short breath and looked the young King directly in the eye before continuing. "And if she nay'r knew any of it before, at least today I am sure she has figured it out." She admitted, moving only a little closer upon the pillow she rested for the sake of keeping her voice low. "See, when Athena told me she was leaving, I henceforth offered my help, and right I was, for she happened to own more things than we could imagine—"

"Yeah, who  _needs_  that many sets of armour anyway?" Edmund interrupted her, enough, at least to make the young Protector simply stare at him with raised eyebrows long enough for him to notice his interruption, smile, and finally say: "Sorry; go on."

The affection in Juliet's shaking head only allowed for the moment to become slightly lighter than it had been before. "Well, this morrow, I woke set to the task of helping her load her belongings to the carriage, yet when I arrived, Princess Juno was already there." She paused, waiting for Edmund to piece two and two together; the frown that took over his forehead though was enough to make Juliet finish her thought. "She was helping her pack; she was helping her load everything into the carriage alike I was meant to, and nay did I dare interrupt, for Princess Juno seemed so amiable I couldst but leave them be."

"Well, of course she was being friendly enough," Edmund countered without much of a pause between Juliet's words and his. "She was helping her competition move away from her home. Now that Athena's gone Juno has Peter's whole attention to herself."

"Indeed, if such a thing were true, my heart," Juliet quickly replied, ever set on defending the girl who had become a friend to her as quickly as the two had even met. "But hast thou not told me just now that he forbade even the princess from seeing him?" She wondered, her brows raised and her eyes wondrous in the darkened browns of his, after all, the sun had made quick work of hiding already. "Nay, I beg thee, think of her not thus, for Princess Juno has proven her kindness in many ways already. Thou hast met her; therefore, canst thou not see the injustice done?" She wondered, yet when Edmund's lips parted to speak, she let go of his hand and instead pressed her fingers to his lips. "Say not a thing," she continued, merely for the truths she wanted to speak. "Lest thou think me unkind for not thinking of thy brother, because I do; thou know'st I care for him as much as I do thy sisters, and aye, my heart craves no more than for him to find the happiness I denied him for, which, as we both know, he could find in Athena. And I care about her too," Her hand finally fell away from his lips. "I care so much mine heart bled to see her go, but being who I am makes thus impossible for me to hate the girl who hast found her way into the middle of forbidden love. Thus I care, indeed, for she is nice, and she has become my friend."

Only once it was evident she was done speaking, Edmund's lips parted again; he definitely would have been more playful if the subject were not one he cared for as much as he did that one. "Fine, I won't think badly of Princess Juno, she  _is_ nice enough, I'll give you that." He admitted, reaching for Juliet's hand once again even as he spoke. "It's her brother I don't trust." He looked at her again. "I mean, did you see the way King Lune was going after Athena before she left? All compliments and help offering, and... all those weird things he did?"

Juliet's lips pursed to the side, a feat to match the little frown in between her brows as she attempted to remember every instance she had witnessed King Lune paying more attention to the Marchioness than any other girl in the room; and, well, Edmund was not wrong, the Archen King  _had_ definitely been trying a little too hard to be noticed by her. "Perhaps he likes her." She attempted, testing the feeling of the words on her lips to see if they made any sense at all; but the truth was, they felt weird, almost even forced. Something clearly Edmund himself thought as well, if she could judge by the breathed scoff that left his lips. "So... he knows?" She wondered instead, curious and worried enough for it to be evident in her voice.

This time, Edmund nodded. "I think he does." He admitted, releasing a shot breath soon after and easily rolling his eyes. "I mean, it's not like Pete hides it as well as he thinks he does." He paused. "Anyone with eyes and a thinking brain can see he's crazy for Athena; all one has to do is pay attention to the way he  _looks_ at her and that's enough."

At least, to that, Juliet could immediately agree to. "Aye, I've seen it too." Simply from the moment he had come in through the rain carrying her broken body, walking, speaking, and acting as if he held the entirely of his world in his hands; and as if that were not enough, she had also seen the echoes of pain masked within Athena's glad eyes upon meeting the Princess herself. Yet there the truth remained: Peter Pevensie had to marry Juno of Archenland for the sake of an alliance... and Athena Ashdown had to see it happen; no, indeed, this was not the future she had pictured for the High King when she had refused his proposal. "So both the Archenland King and his sister know..."

Edmund nodded once again. "I think they do, yeah." And the one thing he had done to try and make things right had seemed to have flown over entirely; because either his best friend saw the letters Peter had written to her and ignored them, or she didn't see the letters at all. In truth, the young King did not know which of the two outcomes was worse.

Indeed, they both knew and thought the very thing that only Juliet suddenly felt brave enough to say: "I do fear, my heart: the consequence of this storm will bring destruction faster than all the players will see the first lighting strike."

Something which the young King could easily now understand was her well specific way of saying the truth he thought as well: things were not going to end well. "Yeah." He said, worried, as he ever was nowadays, for his brother, and his best friend, and even the wellbeing of Narnia considering the stakes that remained in what he liked to think of as the love square of hell; and because of it, yes, suddenly he didn't want to leave the comfort he always found by Juliet's side at all. "Do you want to stay?" He simply asked this time; his eyes focusing on the tiny lights of amber her eyes were, which were barely even visible for the gentleness of the moon's light, as his fingers threaded in between hers once again.

It was the gentle need of silent support that she needed as much as he seemed to that led her head to bob in a nod of silent consent as a short worried breath left her softly parted lips. "I do." She simply told him, because she knew he would worry for the rest of the night, and she knew  _she_ would worry for the rest of the night, and the truth was that she would rather comfort him as much as he comforted her instead of having the two of them worrying in almost opposite sides of the castle; thus, with that simple agreement, Edmund moved closer than he had been, and Juliet did alike, until the space between them was barely enough for their clasped hands to rest in, and both their foreheads softly touched within the silence of the night. A silence they comfortably shared for hours, simply being together, until eventually the safety of sleep took them both, and all Juliet had to do was keep fighting away the thought that refused to leave her mind even in dreams:

Good Protector of Love that she was if she couldn't even find a way of making the pile of wrongs upon Peter Pevensie's shattered heart tumble over until they were put right, and the two people so evidently in love could be together as they clearly wished to be; was it not her place? Was she perhaps too distracted by her own love-filled heart to do anything about anyone else?

Was it evil of her that she didn't regret what had happened between her and Edmund even if it meant she had forgotten about her duty?


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTE:** I just wanted to make it clear, and let you all know, that since the chapter of Athena's disappearance, all of the non Edmulet stuff in the story is 100% taken from the very same book of Athena's origin: Helpless, by the most amazing Jas on wattpad (under indigogalaxyjas); what you see in my story, of course, is only what Edmund or Juliet see, and thus is not as detailed on Athena and Peter's story as Helpless is. It is exactly for it (and simply because it's such an amazing story) that I encourage you all to go over to Jas' Helpless and read Athena/Peter's version of it. Now, in addition to it being Jas' creation, I have also been wonderfully blessed, given her modern/media AU, by her allowance of me writing my own version of her own chapters, as such which can be seen on this chapter, to start; and it is for it that sometimes (if you've read her story) you will recognise some dialogue or some actions going on in here. That said, I will NEVER simply copy/paste from her work, not only do I not agree with those actions, but I also respect her too much to even think of doing such a thing. So if you find any similarities with Helpless, they are all done 100% with her allowance, and ONLY in Edmund or Juliet's points of view; I will never touch into something Jas herself has already touched on. I hope all of you do slip over to her story and read the magnificence brought there; and here I do take the opportunity to thank her in front of all of you, because without Helpless, this little story of mine would be nothing more than a cliche'd romance without any depth. Thus, thank you, Jas, I owe you Auric, I owe you so much. For it, the entirety of Auric is dedicated to you. And to the rest of you, thank you for reading this story, it truly means the world to me. Remember to smile because you can! x
> 
> -Mel

─ ♚ ─

It was late; it was  _much_ too late for Edmund's taste, and all he wanted to do was sleep, simply crawl into his sheets and make the world disappear for a few hours more than he had been allowed, because the truth was he had never been a morning guy, he had always needed to sleep for as long as his body had wanted it and that was one of the things that had never changed. He had been thus when he was a young boy, and he was the same now that he was seventeen; not to mention, the night's cold of the late spring truly did not make things any easier, it made him uneasy, it made him be specially more upset than he usually would be after having been woken up so suddenly by his brother, claiming he had something important to tell everyone, claiming it couldn't wait. It was unfair, it was selfish, and it was taking everything in Edmund's will to not cuss out at him for taking every one of his siblings out of bed; mostly because it was evident that it wasn't something about the kingdom, for if it were, firstly Lord Peridan and even Juliet would be somewhere in the group of awakened unhappy people, and secondly, the meeting would have been held in the officialness of the royal meeting room instead of Peter's bedroom; but there they all were, Edmund sitting in his brother's bed, a frown deep in his forehead and his arms wrapped around himself as if that alone would made his robe protect him further from the cold, Susan standing near the fire with a face as tired and as gentle as her title claimed, and Lucy slipping into the room with as deep a frown as Edmund's and the single curiosity printed in every speck of her features whilst her hands moved to close the big wooden door to Peter's private bedroom behind her and her feet led her silently to sit beside the youngest king. Indeed, whatever it was, they were all too tired to be the first to talk, because not one of them even dared speak regardless of how Peter had not even stopped pacing the length of his room; in fact, the silence only made Edmund feel more anxious than before, even as Lucy's head tilted to rest on his shoulder, tired.

What the hell was going on?

"I think..." Peter begun, only stopping his walk by the time the word died out from his lips; his path had stopped almost in the middle of the room, his hands stretched beside him as if he were trying to stop the floor from attacking him, and his eyes focused on the very ground he stood on; they all looked at him with as much curiosity as annoyance in Edmund's case, with his brown eyes shadowed by the frown upon his forehead. "...I need to be the first person to admit... I've messed up." The high King finally said, looking as if he carried a weight heavier than it was bearable before his eyes finally lifted to look in his siblings' directions.

Of course, the first person to react at such a simple confession was Edmund, who snorted so loudly even Lucy ended up shaken away from the way she had been leaning against his shoulder. "You've gotta be kidding me." He said, messing about with the threads that kept his robe around him as he stood up from the bed to walk towards the door. "Well, I'm not fixing it." It was a single statement that he thought was enough to give him leave of the meeting and whatever it was Peter had messed up. "I'm not re-writing your reports, I'm not apologising to anyone for you, I'm not going to do anything; I'm going to bed."

But before even his hand could touch the door's handle, Susan's tired little voice broke the short silence of his departure. "Does this have something to with the wedding, Peter?" She wondered, making Edmund curious enough to simply turn around in place with his hand left hovering over the gold of the door handle.

Because he had been worrying about that wedding alone and with Juliet for over half a year, and even his deepest hopes dared rise the moment something about said nuptials was mentioned with his great brother's sombre face to accompany it. "Yeah, it's..." Peter nodded, fully earning Edmund's attention once again, "It's something to do with the wedding." Could he finally have realised the mistake he was making by marrying Princes Juno?

"Couldn't you have brought this up sooner?" Susan wondered, giving her back to the fire and walking shortly in Peter's direction with the very worry that she didn't even attempt to hide; after all: "The wedding is only months away, and I've spent all this time in details, you can't possibly tell me that something is wrong  _now,_ or _—"_

"It's not something having to do with the details, Su." Peter interrupted her, looking in her direction for the sake of their understanding, almost even pleading for the patience she seemed to refuse to give him; whatever it was, it seemed it wasn't easy for the high king to say. "It's just, I... Juno..." Could Edmund truly allow himself to hope?

"Oh, you idiot." Lucy surprised everyone by saying; mostly because she'd been quiet all this time, but also because of the small frown that remained across her forehead and the note of her voice. Indeed, everyone knew about his feelings, or at least so Edmund thought, but to so plainly insinuate about it by saying that which the Just King had also been thinking?  _Nice going, sister._

But Peter only turned to Lucy with the very seriousness and guilt-filled expression he had carried from the moment the conversation had started. "Yes, I am." He admitted, his hands turning into fists as he finally moved to find a seat at the edge of the big wooden trunk at the foot of his bed. "But usually my idiocy has a purpose; this time..." His head shook, needing a long breath for a moment before either continuing or daring to look in Susan's direction again. "This time I've crossed a line."

It wasn't as if being dragged out of bed wasn't enough, because it was, but the mystery and the way the High King dragged out his confessions made the Just King almost lose his mind; never mind his hopes, or the silent way he had been expecting some sort of relief to come by the announcement of the wedding's cancellation, no, none of it mattered because, after so much mystery, all Edmund wanted was to slap his loving brother across the face and tell him to get on with it. Instead, he simply resulted to speaking almost at the very same time as Susan, making her single expression of "Oh, no." Into a full one that begged to know: "What the hell did you do?" in Edmund's voice.

The worry in the high king's expression seemed even heavier by the time he had to reply; his frame had hunched, his eyes had fallen, and the knot in the middle of his throat refused to disappear even by the time his lips parted to speak. "I... how do I... well," Guilt, it was perfectly evident in his every breath, the way he refused to look at anyone, the way even his hands hardened their hold on the edge of the big trunk he sat on; if anything, it made everyone else in the room worry all the more. "Juno—I... Juno and I were talking, and I happened to mention how I already have the entirety of my groom's party picked out and she doesn't have hers, and... well, she—she, somehow the conversation came up, and she mentioned wanting Athena to be one of her bridesmaids, and—and, well, I—I sort of—I said yes."

The other three broke away from their stillness almost immediately; Susan taking a step closer to Peter, Lucy raising from the bed so she could walk in his direction, Edmund walking away from the door and exclaiming his coming disgust to the very idea of his best friend—"You're  _kidding_ right?" But Lucy's voice was the loudest; loud enough to shut them all up, because she rarely raised her voice, she rarely responded so strongly... so it was evident, if she responded like that... "Her attending the wedding is  _enough,_ but making her also be a  _bridesmaid?!"_ Her head shook, her braided hair dancing with the motion for the length it had grown to with the years. "You have gone too far."

"I know, trust me I—" Peter begun, but Lucy's voice interrupted him once again; clearly she hadn't been done speaking.

"No! It's enough that she was driven out of here by this whole situation," Lucy continued, her arms lifting to cross under her chest whilst her eyes refused to look anywhere but the drenching guilt that so hunched Peter. "You and I both know that Athena moved away for the sake of finding some peace, and now you're going to make her life miserable, singlehandedly."

"She's right, Pete..." Susan agreed, her hands falling to her sides as she moved to stand only two or three feet away from her older brother. "This is not fair, to her  _or_ you."

"I know, okay?" Peter finally responded, refusing to let anyone else speak before he could even come to explain the situation more deeply. "I know how unfair it is, and I feel unbelievably guilty about it all." After all, all stories had a reason to be, and that one, no matter how absolutely wrong it was, did too. The important thing, which he attempted even to communicate to them all, was the truth of the guilt that had made it so impossible for him to sleep that night, the very truth that had rested so heavily on his shoulders that it had driven him to wake them all up immediately to deal with what he had done, as if they could fix it, as if Edmund wasn't perfectly right in thinking that it was not something they could even fix; indeed, this was all him. "It's just..." He attempted to explain, forcing himself to look in his siblings' direction as the soft memories of Juno's smile and joyous words danced mightily within his mind. "Juno was so enthusiastic, and I didn't—I couldn't say no."

Oh, no, that was enough. "You  _couldn't_ say no?" Edmund echoed, forgoing the very attempts at relaxed thinking he had been taking for the past few minutes, and finally letting the entirety of his discomfort out by the very anger driven by Peter's words. "What do you  _mean_ you couldn't say no!? Are you forgetting what this wedding is even for!?" Even his voice had risen, his hands had moved to ball into fists against the fabric of his robes, and the anger in his eyes was so clear that no one, not even Peter, who looked directly at him with eyes so full of guilt they nearly shattered into tiny tears, dared say a thing. "Yes, it's for the sake of getting an ally, but it's also for the possibility of bringing peace to our world! And how the  _bloody hell_ do you think that's going to be possible if you start this whole thing by making one life so miserable?" He exclaimed, not walking, not moving, just staring in disbelief at his older brother, and frowning so deeply it nearly even made his eyes seem black instead of brown. "You start with making  _one_ life miserable, and I assure you, all the rest will follow." He paused. "Not to mention, Athena is my  _best friend,_ Peter, and as if that weren't enough, I won't forget that once upon a time, not only I thought you  _loved_ her, but you as good as bloody well said so when we rescued her, and now you're well happy in this alliance of yours that you think it's alright to hurt her like this?" He wondered, finally taking a step backwards as his head shook with the very disdain he felt at the whole situation; and perhaps it was his initial annoyance at having been woken up, perhaps it was the chilly night which drove him crazy, but suddenly it felt like it all was too much to deal with at that time of night, too much to deal with  _at all._ "No," He simply said, tightening his robe around him as he went. "Whatever the reason you woke us all up to tell us this in the middle of the night, I won't help; count me out. You're the  _High King,_  Peter," He nearly spat with every speck of anger travelling through the entirety of his body with enough force that he felt it could even make him tremble. "So start acting like one." And with that, simply ignoring the calls of his sisters behind him, Edmund Pevensie walked the few steps he had taken away from the door, opened it, left, and slammed the enormous thing behind him.  _High King my arse._

The silence left behind him did not break until a couple of moments later, when Susan's heavy breath of discomfort echoed within the room, and her arms lifted to cross under her chest just like Lucy's had, as if that would make her feel less worried than she already was. "Look, maybe he was a little too harsh..." she began, forcing herself to look in Peter's direction instead of the empty space where Edmund had been only moments prior.

But once again, before she could continue, Lucy's voiced echoed in the room one more time: "He really wasn't," which only earned her a heavy look from the gentle queen and a grimace which almost even pressed her full lips into a thin line.

Still, Susan did not sway from her attempts at either comforting Peter or making the situation less of a mess. "He wasn't entirely wrong," Finally, Peter's eyes lifted to look into hers once again; because one thing was for Edmund to say such harsh things, to tell him his truths so directly, which he always seemed to find easy to do, but Susan? "There's nothing wrong with being selfless, Peter, which is what I know you were trying to do by making Juno happy, but..." finally a little frown appeared in the middle of her forehead. "One thing is being selfless to help people, and a whole different one is being  _so_ selfless you end up  _hurting_  people." Indeed, because that was exactly what was happening with Peter then; he was putting aside the sort of pain it would bring him to see Athena in the day of his wedding for the sake of making his future wife happy, without even truly stopping to think that... well, he could hurt Athena so much she maybe wouldn't want to ever return to Cair Paravel; and after having her gone for much more than six months... No, no. "You've got to fix this." Indeed, because Athena Ashdown had become a friend to them all before she had become a love to Peter, and it was unfair for him to so shatter such a thing by his mere indifference to the fairness of her even attending the wedding at all.

It was, indeed, all a mess. "Aslan help me." Peter said, his head easily falling to rest on his hands for a few moments before they moved up and pushed his hair back; what sort of King—nay, what sort of  _friend_ could he be if he didn't even think twice before accepting to something so unfair as was the allowance of making Athena bridesmaid to his future wife?

"He doesn't help cowards, Peter." Said Lucy just at the same time that Susan easily spoke the very fear that rose within her mind: "I think you need to talk to her about all of this before the news spread." They were words which only made the curiosity of Peter's eyes to land on her again just as Lucy's incredulous ones almost even glared in her direction. "Seriously?" The valiant queen wondered with the smallest frowns disrupting her forehead and her arms falling surprised at her sides. "All of this is enough to deal with, don't you think?" she wondered. "She needs to be left alone right now."

Susan's head easily shook. "Think about it, Lucy." She told her youngest sister with the concern printed upon her gentle features. "It's going to be so much worse if she finds out by someone who isn't Peter; not to mention that we haven't even spoken to her in weeks, and then suddenly she hears these news?" Her head shook once again as her arms tightened around herself; it was almost as if she were imagining it was her, and she seemed absolutely terrified by the idea. "No, it  _has_ to be you." She told Peter, releasing a short breath. "And you better not send it in a letter, either, no; you  _have_  to see her, face to face."

When had things become so complicated? "You're right." Peter said, to Susan's surprise and Lucy's disbelief. "I'll go in the morning; better do it sooner rather than later, anyway." He agreed, getting the very advice he had hoped for, and hating himself for his actions only a little less.

"This is a terrible idea." Clearly Lucy did not agree with the other two.

Susan's head shook again. "No, it's the only way we can even  _hope_  we keep our friend." She admitted looking from Peter to Lucy and back before her arms fell to her sides, clearly ready to go back to bed. "And it's also the only way to make sure her feelings are not entirely demolished."

Who else could argue with that?

♦

The next morning, when Juliet Capulet woke up to find a peacefully asleep Edmund Pevensie curled on top of her sheets beside her, she wasn't alarmed at all for the fact that the younger King was sleeping there, but instead shortly shaken for the simple fact that she had not gone to sleep with him by her side in the first place; and it was for it that she remained laying there for a few moments, simply staring at the sleeping king with the little frown embedded into her forehead. If anything, she was surprised the brightness of the sun coming from the window near her bed hadn't awakened him already; she always woke up looking away from the window even if she hadn't started sleeping in such a position because it appeared that, after many years as Lucy's lady (thus having to live in the Eastern wing, where the sun always literally hit them all first), her body had gotten either used to it, or it worked well enough on its own to turn around when the sunshine began to slip through the corner of her windows.

But her comfort and such was not the thing that worried her at that moment.

"Ed?" She called in a soft tone, her hand moving quite softly to push some hair away from his forehead as if it would listen to her and stay put aside, but, well, gravity made such a thing impossible.

Still, the soft touch of her fingers seemed to be enough to wake him, and for it he stirred, stretched somewhat and finally opened his eyes, almost immediately smiling at the sight of Juliet as he said a simple "Hi." As if it was perfectly normal for the two of them to go to bed to separate rooms but wake up together the next morning.

It obviously wasn't; either the two of them went to bed together and woke up together, or they went to different beds and woke up in different beds; or if not, then at least the two would be awake to witness the moment the situation changed. "Hi." Juliet responded with a little smile lifting the corners of her lips alongside the gentle confusion written along her features for the single reality of the uncommon situation. "Here thou art." She perhaps had only not gone insane because it was him.

Still, he smiled, forgoing the very thoughts of the reminder of the reason he was even resting there, on top of her sheets instead of in them as he usually would, in the first place; instead, he simply nodded. "Indeed, I am." Because after the angry talk in Peter's room, he had simply resorted to walking, too angry to sleep, too angry to do anything other than either punch something, go over to Athena's little house somewhere in the woods and apologise for the stupidity of his brother, or just... well, go talk to Juliet for the sake of his own sanity (because she was the only one in the castle that even knew everything the way the Pevensies did); of course, when he had gotten there, she was so peacefully asleep that he hadn't even had the heart to wake her, but it appeared simply looking at her for a couple of moments relaxed him enough to wish to sleep as well, and thus, as to not disturb her and respect the fact that she was unconscious (thus could not tell him to go away if she willed it), he simply laid down beside her, on top of her sheets regardless of the cold, and fell asleep himself.

And now there they were, smiling at each other and greeting as if it were perfectly normal for the two of them to have woken together that day. "I beg thee; take my query not as a sign of discontent, but..." Juliet shortly cleared her throat, glad for the King's smile as she levered herself by her elbow to look down at him. "Wherefore  _art_ thou here?" She wondered, unable to let the smile go; after all, any time she woke by the King's side tended to be a good day for the good mood it brought her. "Evermore, hast thou been seen? Whenever did you get here? Art thou alright?" Ever curious, and ever bright, Juliet Capulet did make the King feel infinitely better than he perhaps would have if he had gone straight to his room the previous night, and for it his smile broke into a breathed wave of laughter that only led him to move quite suddenly to press his lips to hers, happy to have her respond as lovingly and welcomingly as if she hadn't asked a thing at all; but, of course, because it  _was_ Juliet, she finally did press a hand against his shoulder and pulled away after a couple of seconds of their kiss. "Thou doth silence me with a kiss," She accused him, her brows raised within their playful shock for a couple of beats before her eyes narrowed brilliantly at him. "Nay, my heart, all is not right. What happened?"

Edmund laughed again. "What, I can't kiss you?" He wondered, feigning the sort of shock she had herself done only a couple of moments prior.

"Not to silence me so early this morrow, nay." She responded; resulting in the king's short roll of his eyes to match the amusement of his smile, which encouraged Juliet to move in order to fully sit up, yet refusing to do anything but face him. "For thou wouldst have not a thing to silence me for hath I not asked something so right; thus tell me, I pray, what troubled thee, my dearest, to come so silently to my bed by night's sway?"

Almost defeated, yet without the ability to even lose the smile that so lifted his lips, Edmund fell against the pillows once again, releasing a long breath and passing a hand through his unruly waves of hair for the mere happenstance that Juliet made it impossible for him to ignore the problems he wished to ignore until after breakfast; indeed, perhaps once it would have annoyed him (so much he perhaps even would have yelled at her to mind her own business), but now... well, not only he trusted her, but the very reason he had even  _gone_ to her room in the first place was to talk about the very conversation with Peter in the first place. But still, as endearing as Juliet's observation skills had become... "You miss nothing, do you?" They also did end up impressing him.

Almost proud, a tiny smile returned to Juliet's otherwise worried lips as a single shoulder lifted in an unapologetic shrug, "Nay, not a thing." She admitted; because perhaps once upon a time she might have been ignorant to a lot of things, but becoming a Protector of Love had made her have to notice every single thing, from a movement, to an expression, to a change of behaviour, to... well, to everything she had missed to ever be so blind to see the murderous light in Romeo's eyes when he had so betrayed her. But  _that_ was not something she wanted to think about; specially not with Edmund on her bed. "Now, speak." She demanded, instead. And so, with yet another heavy breath and a single nod, he did, telling her everything from the way he had been so annoyingly woken up in the middle of the night to the moment he had stormed off of Peter's room and ended up in hers after a walk around the castle; to his satisfaction, though, he was happy to see the reactions in Juliet almost even match his as he spoke, because at least he wasn't alone in his painful opinions. In fact, he was so very clearly not alone that by the time he finished his tale, all Juliet could really do was stare at him with the anger written in her features and simply finally exclaim: "Hast he lost his mind?!"

It even made the King snort, "Oh, a long time ago, Jules." He admitted, simply laying on his back and crossing his arms on his chest. "But that's beyond the point."

"Indeed," Juliet agreed, surprising Edmund enough to look at her with a shocked and smiling expression of amusement, simply watching her as her head shook for a moment or two before a heavy sigh of as much concern as disappointment escaped her shortly parted lips. "If I knew him not so well, I wouldst even think he could be doing this to make everyone as miserable as he must feel without Athena by his side,"

Edmund simply nodded before he asked. "Do you?" He found himself frowning again.

Without much of a surprise to the Just King, Juliet nodded and looked at him again. "Aye, I do. Thou know'st I do, for he is as much a friend to me as thy royal sisters," she admitted, pausing for a couple of moments as the silence stretched out around them, before she finally spoke again. "Who will tell her?" She wondered. "Know'st thou what will happen?"

The young king only shook his head twice before daring to speak. "Nothing good, I'm sure." He could only even imagine; "But I swear, if Peter doesn't tell her himself, I'll strike him; I don't care if he's the High King, he's a bloody idiot."

To that, at least, Juliet didn't really have anything to stay; thus, instead, she decided to express the very query that popped into her mind the moment Edmund had told her everything in the first place: "Can we do nothing, then?" The worry she carried for as much the High King as for Athena (who had truly become close within the many months that had passed since her rescue) echoed very clearly in her voice. "Must we simply bear witness to his actions?"

Finally, Edmund looked at Juliet again; the frown dissipating almost as quickly as it had come for the concern printed on his beloved Juliet's features. How unfair it seemed, that they all should suffer for the mistakes of his brother; and they called him  _magnificent._ "I guess so." He simply admitted, allowing one hand to untangle from its cross upon his chest so it could attempt to comfort the immortal shortly. "It's not our issue to fix, anyway." He admitted, though it truly sounded as if he were attempting to convince himself as well; after all, he  _had_ almost decided to head to Athena's the previous night, not to mention the way he had intruded and given her Peter's letters with hopes of them finally getting together the way they very evidently wished to be. Indeed, he had  _tried,_ and now... well, now it felt almost as if it were much too late. Was he truly so meant to accept the fact that he had the warm love of Juliet Capulet when his brother wasn't even allowed the freedom to love whomever the hell he wanted and be happy at last?

For someone who seemed to hate Peter so much sometimes, Edmund Pevensie truly did love his brother to the end of the world.

In contrast to those thoughts, the single agreement of Juliet's lips broke him away from his little reverie before she finally moved away from the bed and his touch; and he had been so distracted for a moment, that the absence of her company so close to him did worry him enough to finally sit up on her bed and follow her immediately with his eyes, worried, even frowning. "Where are you going?" He wondered, tightening his robe upon his body as if it could protect him better than anything else against the cold of the early morning—as if he didn't know he need only step under the bright sun outside to be so warm he wished for a little bit of breeze after, oh the magic of late spring. "What are you doing?"

But Juliet had only to turn about whilst she walked and smile in his direction to make him realise that the fear of her discontent had only been in the darkest depths of his imagination before she spoke at last. "Why, I'm preparing myself for the day ahead." She told him, making it very evident then that she had been walking towards the door leading to all of her clothes instead of the exit of her room. "If I am so unable to do something to help my friends, then I must face my duties like any other day, and thy Queen Sister shall be waking any moment." She paused, her hand resting on the door to her clothes' room, so she could turn to face him once again, even where she was. "Not all of us have the privilege of being a King, my dearest; I may ne'er laze away the morrow if I intend to keep my place at court." Or course, it was an exaggeration, and she made it very clear by the smile that refused to disappear from her lips even by the time the roll of Edmund's eyes responded to her accusations almost as if she had annoyed him.

And perhaps once upon a time she may have; but at that moment, if anything, he found himself only becoming highly amused by her words as he pushed himself off of the bed and walked in her direction instead. "No one would dare take away your place" he told her, noting only then that he didn't even bother to take off his slippers the night prior. "You're very good at what you do," He paused. "Or so I've heard."

Juliet's smile widened some as she finally opened the door to her closet, and she even dared place a little curtsy in his direction as the playfulness of her voice left within the single "I thank you," she gave him without daring to look away from his eyes too long.

Something which seemed to amuse Edmund alike even by the time he reached her; for the kiss he placed on her lips was once broken by the smile he carried, and though she responded to the kiss happily, the single action did not last more than a couple of seconds before he pulled away, feigned a little bow in her direction, and turned to walk toward the door that would lead him away from her room; that is, not before he muttered a single "And I do not 'laze away' anything," loud enough for Juliet to hear and thus leave her laughing by the time he closed the door behind him.

At least their short time together that morning would allow the two lovers to be in a much better mood than any of the other people in the castle that day.


	34. Chapter 34

─ ♚ ─

His steps echoed swiftly through the halls as he walked with a jump in his step he would pray to share with all his siblings soon enough; even his sword had been left behind in his room for once, and the purpose his shoulders carried allowed him the almost too-small lift of his lips illuminating his features. The day had aged well enough, and the joy of his best friend's return, combined with the rarity of hope he had been witness to, only led him faster through the halls of the Northern wing as easily as if it were his own; he barely even had left Athena to fix her room again with all the things he had help carry alongside Susan, Lucy, Juliet, Peter, Peridan, and even Juno and Lune, but still he walked with determination toward the room he knew better than anyone he would be able to find his older brother after he had left them all to deal with Athena's things in the end, claiming he had something important to attend to on his own. In fact, it had been that very claim that had struck Edmund as strange, and that very strangeness that had led him to note the very reality that finally raised hopes within him strongly enough to lead him to walk through the halls of Cair as if his brother would disappear if he didn't move fast enough. Blessed be the day Athena Ashdown came back to court, for it had brought with her hope, joy, and even a little bit of the old banter he had definitely missed in the near-year she had been away; and above all, it had brought something else even Edmund had not expected to find after the amount of time that had passed, especially with his brother's latest actions, and thus, he walked.

The purpose, the hope, and the need were such within the Just King's heart that even his hand and voice quickly dismissed his brother's guard with a claim to need to talk to him privately the moment he reached the High King's door, and only once the two armed fauns had disappeared down the hall, did Edmund finally open the big door and freed the very thought that had even led him to Peter's private writing room in the first place: "I never thought I would see the day," Even with the privacy Peter's guard had allowed him, Edmund's hands swiftly moved to shut the big door behind him with a click, but even then his eyes refused to move away from Peter, who so mindlessly lifted his eyes to look at him and therefore halted his steady hand on its path along the royal document he had been signing.

Curiosity was evident in his deep blue eyes as much as on the halting of his actions. "What are you on about?" He wondered, studying his brother as if the answers could be found somewhere written on his clothes or what little could be seen of his flesh.

Of course, he found nothing to give Edmund's intentions away until the Just King's smile broke for the single admission that had led him there. "I'd given up almost entirely on this, but by Aslan, you're jealous."

"What?" That, at least, encouraged the High King to put down his quill and lean back strongly upon his big chair for the mere accusation that he was lucky Edmund could not hear ignite the wild beating of his broken heart. "I'm not jealous." He claimed, so softly and convincingly that if Edmund had not been witness to the actions of that morning as they all helped Athena with her things, he might have even believed him.

But as it was, he  _had_ been witness to Peter's pressed smile and quick escape, and for it, he didn't even think twice before walking towards the chair nearest Peter and simply counter: "Yes, you are." Whilst pulling the chair closer to the very desk the High King wrote on and taking a seat at last, " _Very_ jealous, in fact."

At least that retort was met by nothing other than Peter's short roll of his eyes and a long displeased breath that hunched his back as both his hands rested on top of the very parchment he had been signing moments prior. "Ed, I don't have time for this." He told his brother; but what came after almost entirely negated the claim he had attempted. "How exactly am I jealous?" Indeed, his heart could give him away if he allowed it.

Still, encouraged, Edmund's smile widened shortly as his frame leaned back almost knowingly upon the chair he had chosen whilst both his hands rested on the armrests of the furniture. "Remember a couple of years ago when Lucy took the last slice of bell-cake at Su's birthday ball?" He wondered soulfully without looking away from Peter's now rather confused eyes as they shadowed by the coming of his frown.

Now the High King was even a little annoyed. "Yes, what of it?" He wondered regardless while his heart relaxed some.

Edmund nodded. "Mm-hmmm," He continued, clearing his throat and crossing one leg atop the other rather loosely; leaving his right calf resting on the top of his left knee. "And do you remember how you sat there for the rest of the banquet, fake smiling and replying to questions with one word answers?"

Peter's eyes rolled again. "What exactly is your point, Edmund?" He wondered quite annoyingly whilst his arms crossed atop his desk. "That is, assuming you're trying to make one."

To his surprise, though, instead of the very annoyance for Peter's wit, which would have met him right back if it were some other day, the only thing that answered Peter at that moment was his brother's young and unexpected laugh; but how could he not laugh, when the hope within his heart had been restored and the very intention he had carried from the moment he had discovered his own love for Juliet Capulet had found strength once more. "My point is," he finally replied, his arms matching his brother's crossing under his chest. "Not that I ever thought I'd see it happen with someone living, but that is  _exactly_  how you are when you're jealous." He paused, his eyes near challenging his brother to refuse the accusation once again. "And that is exactly how you were only a few hours ago."

That, at least, had Peter's heart returning to the insane tune it had taken the moment Edmund had first accused him; and perhaps he should have admitted to his brother's truth, after all, it wasn't as if he was that great at hiding his emotions, specially not after his little adventure to Athena's cottage a few weeks prior when they had... oh, blasted be his emotions; of course he couldn't admit to the right of his brother's words. "Why would I be jealous?" He said instead, his tone convincing only the dust flying about his room under the twilight shine as his eyes fell to the parchment under his hands once again, as if suddenly it held more interest than the accusations from his brother.

But of course, Edmund could do nothing more than release the single "HA!" that built up within his chest by the amusement of the other's attempts at denial. "Why?" He wondered as sardonically as Peter was used to hearing him. "Well, let's see." He even leaned forward, his thumb and index caressing his chin as if he had even one hair to call a beard, the way he had seen old men do somewhere in a dream when they attempted to be wise and whole. "According to the conversation downstairs moments before you left us to help Athena with the rest of her very heavy things," He almost even complained, daring to look at Peter again. "King Lune is taking Athena on a small holiday to Archenland during your honeymoon with Juno." His hands dropped to his legs and the feigned shock returned to his features. "Which probably means he is finally going to officially ask to court her, or, hell, even marry her; and if she says yes, then it will mean the love you once had for her will be—"

"Alright, alright, stop!" Peter quickly requested, setting down the quill he had picked up again in his attempts at drowning Edmund out by the importance of his papers, and pressing both his hands upon the desk so suddenly that even some papers near his hands danced with the little wind his motion made. "Maybe I  _am_ jealous," he admitted for the sake of hearing no more; the mere thought of Athena with King Lune made his stomach hurt. "But even so, it's only a little bit, and it is none of your business, anyway."

At that, Edmund could do nothing other than snort. "Right, well, let's get something straight." He requested, his right leg falling again so both his feet rested on the floor while his hands pushed against his brother's desk to stand up. "I  _don't_ like jealous Peter," He admitted, leaning against the desk to look directly into his brother's eyes. "He's moody, and unpredictable, and even  _more_ stubborn than normal Peter." His tone was harsh, but true, and though his brother quickly attempted to deny that he was stubborn at all, all the Just King had to do was raise both his brows and truly look as serious as he had been unable to be for the past few hours for the good of his own happiness, before Peter simply rolled his eyes again and the interruption was ignored in the end. "So..." Edmund continued, anyway, once his own words had been taken as the ones to pay attention to against the very stubbornness the High King refused to have. "We've got to do something about it."

Peter's frown returned, and though his hands had moved automatically to push the now-signed parchment aside to rest with the other signed papers on his left, his eyes refused to fall away from his brother at all. "It's not as bad as that." He attempted, reaching his right hand for the next parchment as automatically as if he were getting dressed. "Is it?"

Finally, Edmund stood straight and simply crossed his arms on his chest as he spoke, "No, you're right, it's not as bad as that." He paused for the sake of the dramatics he was known for before finishing what he had meant to say: "It's worse." At least that had gotten Peter's attention. "For starters, you're getting married to someone you don't love whilst loving someone else, which, by the way, you almost even had  _me_  fooled thinking you'd moved on from her in the first place until today; second, that person you love, which I'm also rather sure loves you too, in fact, looks to be very close to either being courted or even married." He paused, if anything, for the sake of walking closer to him. "And as if that wasn't already awful on its own, two weeks ago you agreed for that someone you love to be  _bridesmaid_ at your bloody wedding," He paused, finally stopping his walk just by his brother's side, not at all surprised to find Peter's blue eyes focused only on him. "Am I missing something?"

With the same sort of sadness all had been witness to the moment Athena's death had been proclaimed what felt like a lifetime prior, Peter's eyes finally fell, a long deep breath left though parted lips, and his head shook shortly at once. "No," He admitted almost low enough to make his brother pity him. "Unless you count the fact that Juno doesn't love me either." His eyes even turned to the brand new parchment he had pulled before him to sign, but anyone would be able to tell that his eyes were not focusing on the words written there at all. "We don't even kiss when we're alone, or ever, really, unless it's politically required." He confessed; "We talk, and we laugh, and we get along, but..." His right hand moved rather frustrated to push his golden hair back, as if that would make him feel better at all. "It's no more love than the one I felt when I proposed to Juliet."

Well, Edmund would have loved to keep Juliet away from the conversation entirely, but even then, even by the mention of the reminder of one of the many reasons the two lovers kept their affair secret, the encouragement he had felt at Peter's admission of jealousy only grew for the weight of his words. "That's it, then," he attempted, uncrossing his arms and leaning sideways on his brother's desk for the sake of the seriousness he carried as the hope he had given up on resurfaced as swiftly as if it had never left. "We've got to fix this, Peter; you've got to cancel this wedding."

But it appeared the same enthusiasm that carried the Just King could not entirely be met by his brother, if anyone was to judge by the severity of the look in his eyes, or the tone of his voice the moment he asked "Are you mad?!" Even the inkpot fell on the desk with the harshness of the High King's movements, and it didn't appear to matter that the ink stained a couple of empty parchments, because Peter still rose from his chair without even a single doubt. "This wedding is meant to bring peace to Narnia, Edmund, or have you forgotten?" He wondered, his hand barely even resting on the desk as he looked into his brother's eyes. "I'm not marrying Juno because I love her, I'm marrying her because I signed a treaty; one which helped us defeat the Ettins in the Battle of the Giants a year ago, if you remember," there might even be a vein popping somewhere on his neck. "And, yes, I may regret having reinstated that betrothal every goddamn day, I may know I shouldn't even have agreed to marry Juno for the love I bear Athena, but she was gone, she was thought dead, and no matter how much I love her, no matter how much I refused to give up on finding her, or how much I wish she were the one walking down the aisle to meet me this winter, I  _have_ to marry Juno because her brother did good on his word of fighting by our side to defeat the Ettinsmoor army when we might as well have lost on our own. So, no, Ed, we can't fix it. It's much too late." The words had been so many and so quick that Peter had even expected his brother to try to interrupt him, or almost immediately respond with some sort of retort of his own to make him see the truth of his situation; hell, he even hoped for Edmund to have something to say, to prove him wrong, to give him a solution to the very issue that had kept him feeling as if he were carrying the entire weight of the world on his shoulders; but where he had expected to meet opposition there was only silence, and what was worse, there was a tiny smile lifting the corners of his younger brother's lips. It didn't make sense at all. "What?" He wondered, the frown on his forehead deepening as his feet took him one step further away from the youngest King, almost begging, almost praying for something to free him at last, even if it were just his brother's words; but why the hell was he smiling so strangely? "What, Ed?"

Though the Just King had straightened his posture the moment Peter rose from his chair, now all he could do was mirror the other's actions by taking a step backwards as well. "You just said you love Athena," He said, his arms falling to rest behind him and the lift of his lips simply reusing to disappear.

He wasn't even surprised to be met by one of Peter's single roll of his eyes. "Don't be such a child, Ed, you're a King, remember that." Peter unfairly said, using both his hands and the entirety of his attention to place his big chair back in place so he could sit.

But Edmund couldn't have it; "Mm, no, you said you love her," He repeated, pointing in his brother's direction with the very same sort of accusing tone he had used from the beginning of the conversation. "And what's more, you said you wish she was the one you were marrying," he continued. "So maybe the one who should remember he's a King is you, Peter." He easily countered, the hope still running free upon his veins, thus keeping him in as good a mood as he had been since before entering the room. "Remember that all you have to do is say the word, and cities can move at your command;" he attempted. "For Aslan's sake, you're the High King, aren't you? Call off the engagement, be with Athena, marry her instead if that's what you want, but end this engagement already before it's too late."

"It's already too late, don't you understand?" Peter repeated, turning to look at him entirely even as his hands attempted fixing the mess on his desk. "Part of the alliance has—"

"The alliance has been resting on thin ice ever since Athena was found alive and the Ettins began to regroup," Edmund quickly interrupted his brother, noting the mere tiredness in Peter's eyes as he looked at him; yet even through his words, the Just King could swear that was hope he saw in Peter's watery blue eyes. "Why else do you think the tension in court returned the moment you said Athena was coming back?" He paused, trying to make his brother see; because now that the hope had returned, there was nothing that could make him let it go again. "They know, Pete. Lune, and Juno, and even their ambassador, Lark, they all know; so why keep pretending?" He wondered. "Just call off the engagement."

Peter's eyes fell again, but even his fingers had frozen on the parchments he had begun picking up, his fingers so easily tainted by the spilt ink immediately, but he didn't care; because could he dare hope? Was it fair? "I don't want to hurt anyone," he admitted, thinking of every single person around him as he set a neat pile of stained parchment somewhere far from the main stain on his desk.

But of course he had to look up the moment Edmund's snort echoed in his private writing-room once again; "And what do you think you're doing now by agreeing to this loveless marriage?" The Just King easily wondered, his hands almost even flailing by his sides until they fell again with a short slap to his thighs. "You're hurting yourself, because you'll be miserable in the long run; you're hurting Juno, because by marrying you she's also giving up the possibility of finding love on her own; you're hurting Athena, because even though she's only ever admitted it to me before, I'm sure you also know she loves you quite a bit; and above all, you're hurting the realm, because have we not been using love as a platform to our reign? The very thing Aslan himself showed us, showed  _me_  when he forgave me for all the bad I did?" Even his eyes showed the very wisdom he had accomplished in the time of their reign, and Peter couldn't look away, especially for the pride he felt within the depths of his heart as he looked into Edmund's deep brown eyes; for the silence, the youngest king simply continued to speak. "So, please, tell me, how can you even consider showing the people a loveless marriage when the love we have as a family, and the love we have for all of our people has been the thing to keep this kingdom afloat for almost eight years?" He asked, serious, curious, but above all, challenging the High King to try to contradict him again; when he didn't, Edmund simply repeated: "Cancel the wedding," and waited for the worst to come.

But it never did; instead, after a couple of rather torturous seconds, when he thought his brother was going to tell him to leave the room at once, Peter's lips lifted in a smile, and the space between the two disappeared as his arms wrapped tightly around Edmund's frame, breathing, relaxing tangibly even by the time he spoke at last: "When did you get so bloody wise?"

It was a question that surprised the Just King enough to simply respond to the embrace as the depths of his mind responded to his words with the single acceptance of what he couldn't say out loud:  _I just couldn't stand the thought that I deserved to have the sort of love I have with Juliet, when you couldn't even be with the one you wished to be._ But, of course, shortly after, the true meaning of Peter's words befell him enough to pull away from the embrace and even feel the hint of a smile lighting his features once again. "Hang on," he said, his hands resting on his brother's biceps as his brown eyes narrowed with the very suspicion that finally became understood: "Does that mean that you're..."

Edmund seemed to not want to finish the sentence, but still, Peter simply nodded, his agreement with a single "Yes, I am." Before letting go of his brother so he could simply take the chair he had moved, in order to simply place it mindlessly in its proper place now that he didn't intend to sit down again; then he looked at Edmund again, and fully agreed at last: "Let's cancel the wedding."

Of course, it was all Edmund could do not jump up and down the way he had never done before for the mere excitement of what the cancellation meant for Peter's possibility for love; but now that he had agreed, it also meant that the two of them had to be careful and serious about the whole thing, because one bad word could mean the return of war, and though he agreed that no peace was worth it if it was forced, he also thought that his brother's freedom need not mean the end of the peace Narnia had found. For that, they simply couldn't plan on their own, and it was for it that the very next day they both went to find Lucy in her rooms for the sake of the Valiant Queen's help.

The next few days consisted in planning, talking to those they thought they could talk to (which was a very low number), and calculating all the good and bad things that could come out of the situation that had already caused problems enough within the once-peaceful Pevensie court; it was evident to many that Peter's spirits had returned, and something was going on, but there was no one who could either tell exactly what that was, nor suspected it to be something as serious as the cancellation of the wedding. Not only for the discretion of those involved, but because there was a celebration getting nearer and nearer, and that was the celebration ball to Peter Pevensie's twenty first birthday. So, of course no one suspected as the days passed, not a raised brow, not a curious question; even Juliet was kept in the dark for the sake of every single thing that could go wrong with the intention of the cancellation. And perhaps Edmund disliked not telling Juliet something the two had been hoping for a long time, but of course he was able to keep it secret for the simple fact that it was only a couple of days of secrecy; a couple of days in which both parties were so busy (one helping Peter with the cancellation, the other preparing the castle for the party to come) that it did not even allow the two to either suspect or let on that something was going on in the first place, since they were much too worried to spend what little time together they could doing anything other than kissing, sleeping, or... well, something else entirely.

On the day of the ball, though,  _nothing_  seemed to be going well enough for at least  _one_ of the two; and that one was Juliet, who seemed to have awakened on the wrong side of the bed that morning given the plates she had almost broken three times, the illness that had taken over her that morning, or even much later in the day whilst she had been getting ready for the ball when that illness took her over again. She wondered what was happening to her that day whilst her hands gripped the cold edges of the chamber pot as tightly as if it were a person she were trying to strangle, and a couple of strands of her hair became loose from the pretty style she had decided on for the High King's ball; nothing was the way it was supposed to be in a day as joyous as his birthday, and, for once, she was glad she never accepted Lucy's offer of giving her ladies of her own to help her dress. If she had accepted, then she wouldn't be the only one to see her free every single speck of her lunch into the chamber pot so violently that she was even lucky her dress had not suffered any consequence of her vomiting; and that was not something she wished anyone to be witness of, really. No, indeed, Juliet preferred the solitude of her big room and nothing but her furniture to witness her being sick; if she had ladies, then not only would they have seen the grossness of the situation and gathered around her to try and help, but she would not have been able to slide down into a sitting position on the cool floor of her bathroom to try and recuperate the energy that retching had taken from her the way it had done the few times it had happened in Verona. Granted, she hadn't done that in centuries (it was impossible to feel sick whilst being a mere spirit, and before that morning, she hadn't gotten as much as a cold), but still the exhaustion made her almost even wish the day were a different one so she could simply slide into the comfort of her covers and sleep instead of having to prepare to get up and pretend she was feeling wonderfully enough to dance, drink, and eat in pure joy of the High King's twenty first birthday.

It was annoying enough that she had to deal with whatever it was that had made her ill, but to have to bite into a mint leaf for the sake of her breath and get up from the floor a few minutes later when the knock on her main door came... well, it was even more annoying; she even almost felt like sending the caller away with a great curse in Italian by the time she stopped in front of her mirror once again to fix the couple of locks of hair that had gotten free of their pretty intention on her head; the knock came again, and no more than a soft huff from her lips became evidence of her discomfort before she finally said "It's open!" and focused on reddening her cheeks from the pale colour they had taken from her being ill; truly, if it weren't for her constant affection of the High King, she would simply refuse to leave her room that night.

Barely a couple of seconds after she had spoken, the big door of her room opened, and in came Athena Ashdown, wearing a pretty silk dress of black and red surely meant to match the garments Lord Peridan planned on wearing upon that ball, as if they truly were brother and sister. "Are you ready?" She wondered upon entering the room, the smile upon her full lips as friendly and welcome to the young immortal for the sake of how much she had missed the warrior while she had been gone. Even dressed in ways it was very clear she would rather not dress, Juliet was simply glad to see she was still in Cair Paravel.

Perhaps it was too wrong of her, but even with the brand new title of General of Narnia's army (no longer just Cair Paravel's guard as she had been before), Juliet still woke day by day wondering if her good friend would be found within the castle's walls. "Not entirely," She confided, looking at herself in the mirror once again and frowning at the very paleness that stared back at her. "But I fear nay a thing more can be done for me this night." Even her hands fell to her sides as a breath of discontent escaped her lips slowly; only looking away from her own reflection the moment Athena's image stood beside her in the mirror.

"You're being much too harsh on yourself," the warrior said as her silk-gloved hands moved to rest behind her, the way perhaps she would have stood if she were wearing her usual armour; Juliet would bet five lions that her legs were also spread like a soldier's might under the long skirt of black and red. "You look wonderful," she admitted, giving more reason for Juliet's smile than her own thoughts by the time the amber of her eyes fell on the real-life Athena instead of the reflection in the mirror whilst the warrior herself smiled with the purpose of her jesting words. "Granted, a little pale, but I'm sure it's only the candlelight."

Juliet's eyes simply rolled, but even her ruby tinted smile refused to disappear. "I know it; nay, the candles are not to blame, for it be thus which I can seldom change," She paused, her eyes falling to the many things atop her vanity desk, as if they could ever come to give her the answer to what exactly it was that had made her so sick that morning and only moments prior. "But alas, no amount of rouge could gift me the colour necessary to hide my misfortune."

To that, at least, Athena finally frowned; all sense of her jesting aside as she studied the immortal's features once again to look at her paleness with more attentive eyes. "Are you alright?" She wondered for it, truly noting the other's unusual disposition with the single worry that carried her then.

With a single hand, Juliet got rid of the mint leaf she had been chewing on and bobbed her head in a single nod. "Aye, as long as I refuse to consume food or drink for the rest of this night, I believe I couldst ignore my tragedy." She paused, fixing the folds of her dress at last before fully turning to face Athena and encourage herself and the warrior to leave the room. "Whilst I hope those who labour under me heed my word to refuse to work, thus no one comes to find the horrors left within my chamber pot."

Though the warrior did turn around and start walking towards the big door she had left half-open, her big green eyes refused to look away from Juliet for the very confusion her words brought into her mind. "Wait, you're sick?" She wondered, reaching a hand to the other's arm even as they both walked out of the room and Juliet closed her door behind them.

"It appears so." The immortal admitted with the smallest frown upon her forehead. "I have been thus unable to keep a meal down since this morrow." And the strangeness of the situation was not at all lost on her; but, well, given the day...

"Shouldn't you stay in bed, then?" the marchioness wondered regardless of the continuance of their walk, careful not to trip with the silks of her dress as she went, but unable to fight the worry that came at the prospect of Juliet Capulet, the immortal being, being ill. "I mean, I'm sure Peter would understand."

The protector's head immediately shook. "I promise, I do not feel ill, not now," which, perhaps, was the strangest part of it all: that it was true; she had wished to stay in her room before, but just like that morning, all sense of illness was gone again, so what would be the point of staying behind? "'Tis uncomfortable, that's all. But nay'r a thing more to explain what rests behind it. Thus, forget it all," she attempted again, pulling the other noble close by the arm that she easily hooked hers through, "I promised to be thy companion to this ball, and so it shall be. Nay but a dagger to the heart could stop me."

If anything, it was Juliet's smile which encouraged Athena to do exactly as the other said and try to forget the other's ailment for the sake of the very thing she had meant to ask the moment Juliet had even offered to accompany her to the ball: "Yeah, why  _did_ you offer to be my companion?" The warrior wondered, walking down staircases and through halls which slowly began becoming fuller as they got nearer to the guests' chambers. "Not that I am complaining, any moment spent with you is brilliant, but why not go with Edmund? Did something happen between you?"

"Shh!" Juliet commanded; her eyes growing wide as they searched about around her for any person who might have heard the warrior speak; fortunately, all the couples walking on the stairs around them were far enough, and clearly distracted enough to pay any attention to two nobles for anything other than a young nod of their heads. Once she had made sure no one had heard, she allowed the worry of her gaze to fall on Athena again; who was smiling so wide it was very evident the immortal's reaction had been even amusing to her. "Nay, all is well between us," The protector finally said, a voice low enough for only the warrior beside her to hear. "But we went together to the Winter Ball last year, alike Susan's birthday ball before that." She paused, begging with her eyes for the other to understand even if she easily explained it soon after. "If we were seen together again in such a setting, then word could spread around the castle faster than wind, and all prospects for his future could be ruined." To that thought, at least, Juliet's eyes fell, using the excuse of having to hold her skirts to not step on them the moment they reached the top of the stairs for the sake of trying to hide the single sorrow that the thought of the moment she would have to say goodbye to Edmund brought. "And not one of us wishes that." But did she mean saying goodbye or ruining his prospects?

Even Juliet didn't know anymore.

"I don't get it." Athena simply told her in a voice as discrete as hers had been while they reached the long hallway that would lead to the main entrance of the great hall, where all balls and political announcements or welcomes were made. "Why do you two still keep this whole thing secret if it's so clearly serious?" she wondered, her eyes trying to meet with the amber softness of Juliet's gaze to understand it all. "Why does he still need prospects? I mean..." Her eyes fell away again, curious as much as distant by the time she spoke again: "It's not like you're lower than him, you're a Lady. Hell, you're Narnia's oldest living creature aside of Aslan, what better prospect could he have?"

To that, at least, all Juliet could do was finally stand as straight as she could for the sake of guarding her heart; for the situation she found herself in, and for the very thing she and her beloved Edmund so dreaded, was one which could break her so fully even she didn't know the way to turn back. And all for none other than the very truth she had to speak as simply as she could for the sake of the great friend she had made in Athena Ashdown, so she, too, could understand: "One who could give him children someday." And nothing else was said after that.

She didn't need to say more, though, that much was clear; but what was also clear was the fact that the marchioness had not even thought of that single truth in the first place: that of course Juliet could not bear children... her immortality very logically made it so. It was unfair, and the gentle squeeze of Athena's hand on Juliet's arm was enough to make it evident she understood, that she was sorry, that she wished things were different entirely; and the truth was, for the sake of her own heart, and even the sake of Athena's, she did too. She wished very much that everything could be different, that she was a simple living girl who loved and lived the way any other did, with no promises, no vows to any higher beings, no duty to uphold anywhere ever again, just her; she wished that Athena had never left, so Peter could also find the very love Juliet had denied him for; she wished that no war had torn anyone apart; she even wished, for a horrible moment, that those Archenlanders had never come in the first place, even Juno. She wished so much that she even ended up feeling guilty the moment she and the warrior by her side finally entered the great hall and all the small conversations became evident within the big crowd all around them: Peter and Juno, who Juliet had come to think of as a friend as well, Susan and Lark Moor, the ambassador of a peculiar voice which had seemed to sway the Gentle Queen to smile more often than not; Mr. Tumnus, Queen Lucy, and Lady Jasmine, a lady of Princess Juno's household who had taken in with the noble faun so strongly Juliet could barely remember the last time she had seen him without the Lady by his side.

Indeed, she felt guilty for wishing all of them gone, because without them many smiles within that hall would be a little less bright than they were now. "I'd offer something to drink, but..." Athena began, pulling Juliet away from her small guilty reverie with the brightness of a friendly smile; one which, of course, Juliet answered to with a smile of her own and a shake of her head, even laughing at the single notion of doing anything that could make her strange illness return. Athena laughed as well, and at least, with that, they could start the ball with a brighter mood.

It was only moments later that King Peter, the very reason of the ball, was announced formally, and all those within the great hall clapped and congratulated their High King in the welcoming and happy Narnian way they ever presented; when the cheering finally died down, Peter loudly declared the party started, and that was how it had all began. Music began to echo all around them and the first dance begun, with Peter and Juno leaving almost the entire hall speechless with his golden garments and the long green dress she wore; a beautiful piece of silk and cotton that accentuated her frame to her hips and thereafter thickened into a beautiful full skirt that fell to the ground to sway about to look almost like a forest in full bloom when she twirled and turned, her long brown hair loose and adorned with emeralds that matched the beauty of the silver tiara she wore; both of them were a sight to behold, and it was very clear not only Juliet thought so. People around her whispered about the beauty of the future Queen and it was all she could do to not tell them to shut up for the sake of Athena, who continued smiling beside her so wonderfully that the immortal even began to wonder if the other's words and the very prospect of Peter marrying (not to mention her being bridesmaid in such a wedding) bothered her at all anymore. Only after the first dance ended did other couples begin to join the High King and his fiancé on the floor; from Susan and Lark, who smiled so wonderfully that even Juliet envied their joy, to Edmund and Lady Mary, another member of Princess Juno's household that the Just King had thought proper to invite to the ball that night, who seemed so amiable and polite that Juliet could not even be jealous even if she tried to be. Of course, Lord Peridan quite quickly appeared to ask Athena to dance, looking indeed gorgeous on the black and red clothes that stated his nobility; something which the marchioness jokingly refused to do for the sake of her companionship to Juliet, claiming that the two were meant to dance together, but something which was also easily resolved by the protector's reminder that she did not feel like twirling about that night and finally got the two to go ahead without her. Granted, it was not an excuse Juliet could use when another noble reached her with a merry proposal of joining the rest in their joy, but it had been enough to set her in the right mood regardless of the many things that had gone extremely wrong that day.

The mood remained as she twirled and danced with one partner to another as the songs continued, and even her stomach began rumbling with some sort of hunger she had not felt all day, but still, she dared not test the waters of her strange illness for the sake of the joy she felt; indeed, all seemed well, from end to end in the Hall there were laughs and chatter, and even though her own companion found means to disappear entirely from the hall shortly after King Lune asked her for a dance (thus leaving Juliet to accept another dance she did not entirely want) there appeared to be nothing to kill the very joy the young protector felt after the dreadful day she had had. In fact, it only appeared to get even better when, for the very same reason he had asked many other ladies along the night, Edmund finally asked her for a dance. At first it even seemed as polite as the dance he had shared with Lady Mary, surely so for the sake of those around them, but the moment the pleasantries of his asking and her accepting with a short curtsy had passed and they finally stood close to one another merged along the other couples, almost all pleasantries were pushed aside for the familiar and definitely secure hold of his arms as they turned, he lifted her, or they simply waltzed.

Only when he spoke did Juliet's worry return almost at once. "Promise me you'll stay close to Athena until the end of the ball," he whispered against her ear within one of the many times they had to stand really close for the sake of the swaying music and the steps that came with it; if there had been a smile across her lips when they had begun dancing, surely that smile disappeared with those words.

In fact, the single worry of his voice accompanied by the forced grin his lips kept would have been enough to stop her good mood short regardless of the words spoken; her eyes even focused on him for as long as she could before the next twirl guided by his hand forced her eyes away, allowing her to shortly see Athena herself stepping into the Hall again with a face much more sombre than the one she had left with, and a frowning King Lune following shortly behind her, which was the last thing Juliet had been able to see before the position of her body almost forced her to look at Edmund again; surely that sight and his words were enough to bring the worry into her own heart. "What is it?" She quickly wondered, her voice barely higher than a whisper for the sake of only her King listening as they got close for the good of the dance again.

"Something big is happening soon," the young King quickly replied, pulling her away once again for the step that followed, yet nearly begging her with his eyes as they turned with no more than their palms resting together. They could barely speak, and the music was recognisable to start going into a finish; thankfully, the last step allowed them a moment together again. "Just promise me." Edmund whispered again, taking the couple of steps he had to take away from Juliet for the custom of the song and the dance, so he could bow shortly in her direction whilst she curtsied low with the fading notes that ended the song.

What else could she really do other than nod as she stood again? Indeed, nothing, for she had no answers to the many questions Edmund's seriousness had brought into her heart, not even by the time he smiled at her again and turned away from her to walk in some direction Juliet couldn't even focus on for the worry that suddenly felt fill her; all she could do was walk to the sidelines in direction of Athena, who held her cup of wine so tightly she even thought it could come to break if any more strength was applied. "Art thou alright?" She wondered, finally reaching her side and finding easy worry of everything around her.

Suddenly people all around them started to clap and cheer, and though Juliet did not turn to look at the source of the newfound joy, Athena's own face shifted from the seriousness she had worn from the moment she entered the Hall again to a smile to match everyone else's as her hands clapped softly against the cup she held. "Not really," she said between her smile in response to Juliet's query, only daring to look at her for a moment long enough to keep her own concern and apology clear within green eyes. "But I'll tell you later," She continued, looking away from the protector again and in the direction everyone else seemed to be looking towards. "Not here."

And what else could Juliet do than accept her silence as well as Edmund's to turn around to look at the very thing everyone else seemed to be happy to welcome; and why not, when she finally did turn to see, she understood: it was Peter's birthday cake, a big five layered mountain of gold and silver frosting that made its way to the thrones carried by two happy centaurs who set the table it rested on right in front of the High King, who just happened to be standing steps away from his own throne upon that moment. Indeed, Juliet clapped as well, but her heart was not into it, for the worry that had come through Edmund's warning and Athena's own mood became enough to make her feel sick all over again; only... well, now she didn't really have anything to bring up. "Thank you!" Peter's voice echoed as his hands lifted with the cup of wine he had been holding, a smile to match the occasion shining bright upon his lips, whilst his feet led him to stand by the centre of the stone platform that held the four Pevensie thrones. "Thank you," he said again, his voice raising enough for everyone around him to begin to keep quiet, and so on until every single voice had died out within the Great Hall, and every single eye rested on the High King at last. "Thank you, all," He repeated as his arms lowered and held the attention of all the nobles and invited to his birthday ball. "For joining me on this day of celebration for what is to be another year of life," people shortly clapped again, every single face smiling as it looked up to the High King. "I once again welcome our guests from Archenland today, courtesy of His Royal Majesty King Lune the Second, and his sister, Her Royal Highness Princess Juno." His free hand moved to motion respectfully in the direction of the King, who seemed able to smile only forced, and the Princess, who stood close to the thrones, but at the same level as everyone else. "Your presence has been a pleasure this last year in our court."

From somewhere near Peter, Edmund's eyes met Juliet's, and nothing could be given away from his gaze or the short smile and nod he dedicated her, other than his own relief at seeing her standing beside Athena the way he had requested her to,  _until the end of the ball,_ bringing nothing more than a deeper sense of concern into the magic within her heart. "I stand before you today," King Peter continued, almost forcing Juliet's eyes to fall on him once again. "With the highest level of pride and love a King could possibly have for his country;"  _what the hell is going on?_ Juliet's worry would not give."Narnia has flourished from what was once a dark and troublesome past into a beautiful ecosystem of kindness and wisdom, and that is something for which I have to thank the Narnians, as well as the continuous support my brother, sisters, and the other members of the court have gifted to the country.

However, I do not wish to bore you all by spending my few words today thanking people." To that, many in the Hall found apt to laugh; and that joy surely reached the High King's lips as well, who waited until the laughter died down to continue. "Instead, I focus on love," the smile seemed to remain, and many eyes fell to the pretty princess in green standing steps away from the stony rise. "For it is a thing that has brought this nation into prosperity and peace, and has bound friendships and relationships nationwide," many people around Juliet agreed, nodding; and though she agreed as well, even the silence of Athena's attention beside her seemed reason enough to simply frown and listen. "We have established an alliance and an engagement under this foundation, but it can also cause us to do the most unexpected of things at the most unpredictable of moments." Did she imagine it, or were Peter's eyes looking directly at Athena for a couple of seconds? He looked away almost immediately. "Yet,  _because_ we do strange things for the people we love, I believe that love mustn't be restrained, or detained, or pushed aside; no, love has a purpose. My speech today has a purpose."

It was only until those words came that dots Juliet had been unable to put together moments prior only got together to lift a gentle hope within her heart, for the sake of one of the many things she had wished for at the beginning of the ball; if she was right, then Edmund's warning made sense, the short gaze she had caught the High King attempting to share with the girl at her side made sense, even the joy in the depth of his words made sense. "We raise a glass to love," Never before had Juliet Capulet wanted to be so right; and for it, she even wished she had a glass to rise alongside everyone else. "It is a force of nature that winds the fate of time and space; it discovers new paths for us to travel, it unlocks emotions powerful enough to wipe nations off the face of the world or construct empires larger than imagination can depict, and it leads me and this announcement here today:" She was right; she had to be, nothing else made sense otherwise. "It is my wish that love will guide us down a better route towards our future, and that the world can learn from this ever-growing love to better itself as a whole.

Therefore, I, High King Peter of Narnia, formally and before you all, _end_  the marriage alliance between myself and Princess Juno of Archenland, and thus resign from all contents of the Treaty of Beruna, which signified the reinstatement of our betrothal." Silence seemed to haunt the Hall so deeply that it even appeared as if no one even breathed there, no one moved, no one spoke, and Juliet's heart was threatening to beat out of its cavity. "Thank you," Peter finally concluded. "Please, enjoy the rest of the night."

That was, finally, when all hell broke loose.


	35. Chapter 35

─ ♚ ─

 There was complete unrest within the hall; murmurs echoed from one side as many members of the Archenland court slowly disappeared from the hall, never mind the High King's cake, never mind the celebration they were leaving behind, because their King, the great Lune in his state of unrest as he already had been, was leaving without a single word. Of course, part of her wanted to jump with joy at the termination of the engagement between Peter and Princess Juno, but the rest of her, the side that could note the very consequence such a public announcement had done... well, that side of young Juliet was absolutely terrified, and for once she was very glad for the comfort of the hidden daggers under her long sleeves.

Her discomfort was not the only one, it seemed, for the guards, which had been loosely placed upon the hall a moment prior, had begun moving, hands ready to pull their swords free from their sheaths, in the direction of the Kings and Queens, the oldest of which spoke urgently and hurriedly to Lord Peridan seconds before the red and black clad Lord looked around the length of the Great Hall and finally stopped his search in Athena and Juliet's direction. "Come on," Athena quickly said the moment Peridan's gaze returned to the King, whose younger brother urged him in the direction Susan, Lucy, and, to the immortal's surprise, Princess Juno, were swiftly moving side by side with a bunch of guards surrounding them; still, no sooner had Athena spoken and her hand hand quickly reached for Juliet's that Lord Peridan left the High King's side and begun making his way towards them both; even Edmund dared not look in their direction, as the Protector could note for the gaze she had sent his way.

The moment Peridan reached their side the Lord simply encouraged them to keep walking. "It's not good." He swiftly told them both, walking to one side of Juliet while Athena walked at the other, seeming so easily to fall into pace that one could end up thinking they were all from the same family. "King Peter did not think the announcement would cause such commotion, but King Edmund suspected it." He confessed as the three of them made their way out of the Great Hall and towards the little room behind it; the one which was meant for private matters and protection to the royals whenever a ball like the one they had just left was going on. "From this moment on, all guard is meant to be somewhere near the royals at all times."

"Until when?" Athena wondered, not letting go of Juliet's hand as they reached the big wooden door.

Lord Peridan's hand lifted to knock once, then three times, then twice again the way the guard had agreed to do to know the one that knocked was friendly; "for as long as it takes to make sure King Lune doesn't retaliate." Juliet couldn't pretend to not understand the reason of all their caution; and it seemed neither could Athena, whose expression seemed so stoic as she nodded.

But it was when she spoke that the frown took home upon her forehead; "But why wasn't I told?" She wondered, hearing the locks of the door clicking as the person at the other side began to open it. "I could have been prepared."

Almost immediately Peridan's head shook shortly, "You're the General of the Narnian army now, sister. If we told you and your soldiers took action it could be considered an act of war."

"You know that's not what I meant." The warrior easily told the other as the deep green of her eyes fell to the opening door and the frown in the middle of her forehead, as tiny and almost unnoticeable as it was, refused to disappear.

Juliet was not surprised to see Peridan's hand reaching in Athena's direction for the soft comfort against her arm, regardless of the protector's position in between them. "I know," he attempted with the empathy presented upon his blue eyes. "I'm sorry." Of course, Juliet understood regardless of how the words had not been plainly spoken, and the soft hope that had ignited within her heart only moments prior made her lips press together as the little group finally entered the room without another word; because it was easy to understand, for the very hope she felt, and the one she could only imagine Athena herself had not been ready to receive. Oh, what a bittersweet moment.

Bittersweet, indeed, for as much the mood of danger they had left within the Hall, as for the unbreakable tension within the room, where, as the big door shut securely behind them, Susan was almost entirely biting the High King's head off, "...so publically, without talking about it first, are you mad?!" Even her hands lifted almost madly by the sides of her face. "King Lune left, and did you see the expression on his face?! He is angry, and well he should be! How dare you do this without consulting all of us first, how dare you spring this on Juno, or—or me! How could you—"

"Because we knew you would react like this," King Edmund said, taking off his crown and giving it to his closest guard, which made his eyes fall on the little group that had come in, and rather evidently relax when he saw Juliet Capulet safe in between his best friend and her brother. "And for the sake of the realm, we needed it to seem sudden." He continued, forcing his eyes away from Juliet so he could look at Susan with the very serious intent of what his words attempted. "If we told  _you_ , everyone would have been able to know something was going on."

To everyone's surprise, Queen Susan even scoffed, "And what?" She exclaimed as Juliet moved to stand beside Queen Lucy, for the sake of her place as the youngest Queen's protector. "You thought the alternative of starting a war with Archenland was much better than having a few people know that something was going on?"

"If I may," Princess Juno said before anyone else could say anything; even Peter's lips had parted to speak, but given the small intention of the Princess', he stopped, and every single eye shifted to look in her direction at once; no one would have been able to tell for the topaz of her skin or the low candlelight, but there was a soft blush to her cheeks when she finally stood straight and spoke again. "I accepted your security because I knew it was the only way I could speak with you all before I leave to follow my brother back home," she paused, smiling regardless of the public rejection that perhaps would have made some end up as angry as King Lune had been by the time he disappeared. "I'm sorry to have to go, for I have enjoyed my time here wholly." She admitted; something which Susan only replied to by looking in Peter's direction with a gaze so stern even Juno noticed it. "But you must know," she said because of it, resting a hand in Susan's arm for the sake of catching her attention before she spoke again: "I am not hurt, thus, I ask of you, do not be angry. I... I am thankful, because King Peter spoke true: I do not love him." She paused speaking of a conversation surely placed before Juliet had entered the room, the princess' eyes moving to look in the High King's direction with the little smile present still on her lips. "At least... not the way a wife should love a husband," her hand fell from Susan's arm to rest softly clasped upon her stomach. "And, in truth..." she looked at Edmund then, then Lucy, then Juliet, Peridan and Athena; the latter of which she smiled to warmly even as she spoke: "I think of you as a second family, even if I no longer can truly be thus, but I don't think I am at all cut out to be Queen."

Whether it was for a short sense of pride, or the anger that still drove the Gentle Queen for the reality of her lack of knowledge where her siblings seemed to all have been ready for the news, her hand easily reached for Juno's own with silent urgency that only matched by the echo of her words: "But, Princess, it—"

Juno had been about to turn around, but upon Susan's touch she returned her gaze to the deep blue eyes of the oldest Queen, "Please, your majesty." She intended; her free hand falling to rest atop the queen's for the single comfort she hoped to give the other by the very smile that lifted her lips; even Juliet could see the relief resting upon her face, the hope, as if the end of the engagement freed her as much and for the same reasons as it did Peter, because even there, hidden under the sorrow of having to leave Cair Paravel, Princess Juno seemed absolutely thankful. "The news  _did_  come suddenly, but not at all unwanted, for I believe the same thing the High King spoke of this night: that love should be listened to," she paused, turning the softness of her gaze to look in Peter's direction, whose own blue eyes looked at her with the very apology he attempted as his lips pressed together, "Especially when that love is so close to you."

"Juno..." Peter attempted, but no sooner did he speak that the Archen Princess' head began to shake, and her steps led her away from Susan, who let go of her in short defeat, towards the very High King who so evidently attempted swiftly to apologise to her.

She simply moved to hold a single one of his hands. "Don't say anything, and just listen to me," she said, that smile lifting her features completely regardless of the situation, for the happiness she always carried as much as the very hope returned to her of not ever having to be Queen. "Every word of what you spoke today is true, and it's because of it that I ask this of you:" Both her hands even squeezed his shortly, her brown eyes dancing on his blues as if that alone could make him note the very intention of what she spoke; "Promise me that you will use this freedom to do what your heart tells you to do," She told him, barely even blinking, willing him to agree to the very thing never asked of Kings, never allowed, as if the two were entirely alone within the room, as if his sisters and his brother weren't listening, as if the very subject of which she so fully wished to speak of wasn't standing barely feet away from her. "Promise me you will do everything in your power to make what your heart desires come true, promise me you will seek your happiness."

Juliet was simply aghast; indeed, the hope within her heart refused to disappear, but the pleasant surprise at Princess Juno's reaction, which so wonderfully contrasted King Lune's, was the only true thing that showed upon her features. And she was very clearly not the only one with bewilderment enough to show upon their faces; Queen Susan's relief tainted her own confusion, and even a small smile had moved to lift her lips; Lord Peridan's own blue eyes couldn't seem to look away from the Princess either, regardless of the little frown in the middle of his forehead, or the way he kept so close to Athena for what Juliet could only guess was support, he looked at the topaz skinned girl as if for the first time, as if he couldn't decipher her at all; Athena, whose own expression had not changed from the moment she had returned to the Ball after her little disappearance with King Lune, couldn't look anywhere but the very hand Juno so softly held, as confused as everyone in the room yet equally as haunted, stoic, indeed, but the frown in the middle of her forehead spoke of more than any word anyone could say; and Edmund, whose silence had dawned heavier on Juliet, couldn't seem to look away from the ground, but he wasn't frowning, or smiling, or really doing anything other than listening with a single hand resting upon the hilt of his sword, not even as if he were bored, but... entirely too aware of the sounds that Juliet had almost completely ignored until that moment—sounds like the commotion still coming from the Great Hall, full of forced music to drown out the chatter that had not died down from the moment of Peter's announcement, or the sound of horses galloping away from Cair Paravel led by the familiar trumpet of Archenland royalty, speaking louder than any evident and sword-led anger King Lune could have attempted.

But there was one person in the room who did not look at all shocked at Princess Juno's relief or reaction; and that person was Queen Lucy, who so wonderfully smiled by Juliet's side that even the worry from Edmund's expression didn't seem as absolutely dire as what happened within the room upon that moment. Because it so happened that while Juliet's observation had taken no more than a couple of seconds, it had taken just as long for the High King to fully agree and promise the very things the princess requested, and what was more, for the her to wrap her arms around him in a short hug. "I will promise something in turn," She said by the moment she let him go, only smiling at him shortly before her eyes searched for the other Pevensies and spoke again. "That I will do all that rests within my power to prevent my brother from starting an unnecessary war, for none was unwanted nor hurt this day other than his pride." Of course, all were thankful at her promise, but even Edmund, who'd finally lifted his gaze to look at the one who spoke, didn't look much relieved than before. "Now, I really must go." She said picking up her long green skirts so she wouldn't step on them on her way towards the big wooden door the guards almost immediately began working to unlock. "Else my brother will truly leave me behind."

The joke served enough to make almost everyone in the room smile, but still the echo of the princess' steps became the only thing to fill the small room for a couple of seconds as everyone looked at her retreating figure; even so as she stopped in front of Athena and smiled, reaching a single hand in her direction to softly squeeze her arm by the company of a nod before her steps resumed in the direction of the now unlocked door. "Will you visit us often?" Queen Lucy said with the hope of her fifteen years of age written in the very note of her voice, even her smile seemed far more genuine than the ones worn by the rest of her siblings. "Please?"

Of course the princess turned in place with a soft smile of her own, her eyes matching the very joy her lips presented and her voice smooth as velvet whilst her hands tightened on the fabric of her green skirts, "Oh, surely, your majesty." The kindness of her smile truly could light up a room if she let it, "though I do suspect a wedding will bring us together again sooner than you think." And with a soft breathed giggle, finally Juno turned around, nodded toward the guards, and swiftly disappeared into the noise of the halls before the great door closed behind her.

The silence didn't last long.

"What does she mean?" Athena wondered only half a minute after the door had finally shut, tired of all the surprises the night had brought her way and thus evidently worried for any more that could come; even her heart had begun thumping loudly in her ears again. "Whose wedding?" She would even reach for Peridan's hand for the sake of her own sanity if she didn't think it would seem weak of her; brother or no, in front of the Pevensies, she was the General of the army and he was the Lord of the Guard, she couldn't possibly act the fragile sister; especially not that night.

Regardless of her anxiety, though, no one answered the question for a couple of moments too long to even Juliet's taste, who also partly worried for the same reason the warrior did whilst also completely hoping the Princess' intention had been the very one she hoped to come from the new-found freedom of the High King; and, well, people did say great minds thought alike, because before too long, the silence was finally broken by the candid words of the Just King: "You and Peter's, obviously." Only then did a smile finally break his stoic expression.

"Edmund!" Queen Lucy protested, elbowing her brother on the side regardless of the little smile that lifted her lips; as if Peter's gaze hadn't fallen harshly on the youngest king as well, or even Susan's wide eyes.

Regardless of the smiles, one of which even lifted Juliet's lips, the voice that brought back the jestless demeanour to the room was the High King's, whose eyes had fallen from Edmund's direction to look in Athena's almost as quickly as hers had fallen on his, the apology back within his gaze even through the hope that also lifted them. "I don't want you to think that this decision was all because of you," he attempted, his hands softly balling into fists for what could only be guessed to be his attempts at not reaching toward the green-eyed girl he spoke to. "You were—," his throat cleared, ridding it from the knot that had come without his permission. "You were about eighty five percent of my inspiration, yes, but—but I couldn't go on to marry her, not when I..." He paused, the words floating softly above their heads with enough strength that they almost even made everyone else in the room feel like an outsider, like someone that shouldn't even be in the room at that moment. "Not when I don't..."

Athena simply nodded. "I get it." She said, and perhaps Juliet was letting her own hope bring visions into her eyes, but she could have completely sworn that the warrior's lips even lifted in a small smile and her fingers twitched alike, wishing to reach for Peter as much as he seemed to have stopped himself from doing; it was the only thing she could completely focus on to drown out the slowly dissipating sound coming from the Great Hall just behind the northern wall.

But the silent affection between King and warrior was not completely enough to keep everyone in the room quiet; "What was the rest of the reason?" Susan wondered; looking more in Edmund's direction than Peter's whilst frowning, for even her practical mind would have been able to tell her that prying an answer from her older brother would end up being pointless.

Edmund, on the other hand, who appeared as relieved by the interaction between Peter and Athena as he _felt_ the need to reach out to Juliet for the very affection he held for her (which simply intensified with the success of the very thing he had wished for the entirety of nearly a year), finally looked at Susan with the disappearance of the small smile he had attempted to hold back, stood straight, and simply expressed the truth Peter would not have been able to for the shared gaze he held with the General. "King Lune," He began, a simple explanation that perhaps spoke more to the Archen King's personality than the rest of the youngest King's words could have. "We think he knew about Peter's feelings for Athena, and whether for that reason or a true personal affection for her, we suspected he was going to either ask to court her or worse, marry her." He paused, looking in his best friend's direction, whose own expression had shifted from the soft relief she directed at Peter to the worry she had held from the moment the announcement had been spoken. "Whatever the reason, we didn't want to wait to find out."

"We?" Susan wondered with a raised eyebrow and the amusement written as well on her expression as the little knowing smile that lifted her lips.

And perhaps Edmund would have replied to that, but not even a couple of seconds after the Gentle Queen had spoken, a single pair of words made the near-gloom that had fallen upon the room from the moment Juliet and her group had entered it return completely: "He did." It was Athena, whose frame remained frozen in a mix of relief and worry that was only evident for the way she gulped as her eyes danced from Edmund to Peter and back.

"What?" Peter asked as a shadow of sorrow and worry darkened his deep blue eyes, searching the warrior's features for any semblance of a lie but finding none; all sense of relief that had taken over him gone almost in an instant.

Athena almost even looked apologetic, "he did." She repeated whilst a single shoulder lifted in a nearly motionless shrug and her eyes focused fully on Peter then. "Ask me to marry him." Did she seem apologetic because she was sorry she had made Peter go through so much so publically when he hadn't even been able to stop the very thing he had been afraid of? Or was it because of something worse?

Clearly the young immortal was not the only one to worry about that possible outcome, "When?" Edmund wondered; whatever hope that had come before, dissipating almost entirely in front of everyone's eyes as the question escaped with an echo of disappointment and the very worry that covered everyone's eyes.

Finally, Athena's gaze fell away from her best friend again; "Shortly before the announcement," she admitted, looking in Juliet's direction for the first time since the Princess had left the room. "When he asked me to dance?"

Well, that was one mystery solved quickly. "Aye," the young protector said, her hands tightening on the folds of her dress for the worry of the situation as her hand bobbed in a short nod that made the single strand of loose hair at the side of her face dance shortly. "I couldst nay'r find you for a while after he came along."

The warrior simply nodded, allowing her eyes to dance from face to worried face as she explained the rest, "He told me he needed a little air, so we went to the balcony, and..." suddenly, even the young General seemed to understand everything so well the echoes of relief fell upon her face so strongly; because Edmund's words made sense given her lack of encouragement towards the Archen King. If he wanted to stop something from happening... it appeared he had failed too. "...and then he just turned around and asked me, almost as if he were in a hurry."

"Well, that's not very romantic," the gentle Queen mused softly as her arms lifted to cross under her chest, making the little frown in the middle of her forehead contrast entirely with the soft image she held, especially with the silver of her crown atop her head.

To her words, at least, Athena finally scoffed a soft breath. "I agree with you there," she said, much more relaxed than a moment before; even her hands had unclenched, and every muscle on her face softened as the gentle hint of a smile lifted her lips. "It's not really the reason for it, but I did say no." She announced, noticing that she hadn't before and almost even feeling guilty for it, because the moment she said that not only the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, but both Edmund and Peter almost emanated the feeling of relief as their shoulders relaxed; it was almost as if Edmund had as much to lose from the situation as Peter did.

Though he did remain quiet long enough for it to be Peter who asked "You did?" as the loose muscles returned to the normalcy of his stance.

For the evidence of his relaxation, the General was unable to hold back the smile that now fully lifted her lips as the near-playful echo of her words left her, "You sound so relieved." Even her hands moved to rest behind her, the way everyone who knew her in that room knew she would do when she was relaxed, almost like a soldier back in that place most of them thought of as a dream now.

"That's because he is," Edmund easily answered regardless of his brother's replying smile, as if he had become the High King's voice for the sake of that short moment, at least, making Juliet near him smile towards the ground for the mere amusement of the youngest King's enthusiasm; she didn't think she'd seen him like that since that day in the rain, when Athena had been brought back to the castle in Peter's arms.

Peter, on the other hand, didn't seem to find it so amusing, for all sense of relaxation disappeared to be replaced by a soft blush against the paleness of his cheeks the moment he harshly turned to his brother and said "Ed!" as if in reproach, not even a couple of seconds after his brother had spoken.

Even Lord Peridan was smiling at that point, looking as relieved as they all did within the High King and warrior's dalliance, but all Edmund could do was lift his arms defensively at his sides before he simply spoke again, "Look, no one wants you two together more than me," he admitted, not even forgoing the relief within his own voice as he continued, mindless of the very confession he had released in front of everyone in the room. "But I think you should leave all this love for later," he attempted. "Right now we  _do_  have to think about what Lune is going to do."

And just like that, the seriousness of the night returned to all their minds; from the near-silence of the hall at the other side of the wall to the very Princess who had left their company only moments prior. "If I may," Lord Peridan began, his blue eyes focusing on every face in their small group for a second before it was clear he was perfectly allowed to speak; traditional as he was, he always refused to speak in front of the royals unless he was allowed. "I don't think the King of Archenland will do anything." He admitted, stepping out of the role of brother he had been standing in for most of the conversation and back into the role of Lord. "At least... not if he's smart," he paused as a small frown returned to adorn the middle of his forehead. "After all, when he left the hall the Princess didn't follow him, instead she came with your majesties, which symbolically could even mean that she knew the announcement was coming, and was, thus, in complete agreement of the end of the alliance."

To that, at least, Peter seemed to agree, disappearing blush aside, with a bob of his head. "You're right," He said, looking in Peridan's direction before he directed his words at the small group of royals and nobles that surrounded him: his siblings and almost all of his friends. "I don't think he will do anything, either, so preparing for him to would be foolish of us, because it would seem as if  _we_  were making the first move."

"Not to mention Princess Juno promised she'd try to talk sense into him." Queen Lucy said, speaking for the first time regardless of the smile that had adorned her lips for almost the entirety of the previous conversation. "It can't have been easy for him to be rejected by a girl and then five minutes later rejected by the whole country, which is how the nobles will see it."

"Your announcement couldn't have come at a worse timing, it seems." Queen Susan agreed; eying her oldest brother with a raised brow and the same sort of reproach she had attempted before Princess Juno had told her not to be angry. Only, this time, she seemed more amused and relieved than the first time she had looked at him thus.

Peter's lips simply lifted alike in response. "Yes, well," He said, his arms simply falling at his sides as his eyes fell on Athena once again, who smiled at him with a sort of complicity and relief alike; with a short breath and a smile to match the warrior's, Peter looked at his sister again. "I think he'll come around." He announced. "Prideful as he might be, King Lune is a good man."

To no one's surprise, Edmund softly snorted a short breath, but before anyone could say anything against it, a soft knock came upon the door before a gentle and near-shy voice echoed from the other side: "Hello? I'm a friend, I promise."

Queen Lucy almost immediately lit up, "Mr. Tumnus!" she exclaimed, glad to hear the voice of her good friend coming from the other side of the door, safe and sound. "Open the door!" She requested of the guards.

No sooner did her words leave her lips before the guards began undoing the locks of the door, and a couple of moments later the familiar faun's face popped from the small opening. "Your majesties," he said with a smile, bowing shortly as he entered the room fully and his fingers played with the hem of his thin silver scarf. "The Great Hall has emptied; all guest nobles have gone to their rooms, all danger has passed."

"Thank you, Mr. Tumnus," said Lucy as everyone around her relaxed quite visibly and even the guards began to look to each other for any idea of what to do. "But what is the noise that still comes from the Hall?" The youngest Queen's head tilted softly within her young wonder as her big blue eyes focused only on his closest friend at once.

"Oh, right." The faun said, as if he had forgotten entirely to relay the entirety of the message, which he shortly breathily laughed for, and attempted to finish as well. "That would be the castle's workers," He informed them. "They wished to know if they were to clean the Great Hall."

Juliet almost jumped at the simplest thing he had completely forgotten. " _O dio_ ," She said in her ever-beloved Italian, letting go of her skirts as she took one step away from her position beside the Valiant Queen, who she had sworn to protect; now that she was very clearly safe, there were some other duties she held. "I would best go deal with that."

"Wait," Edmund quickly said, reaching a hand to rest on Lucy's arm as if he could stop Juliet's steps that way before she could leave, making every single set of eyes fall to him for the swiftness of the interruption, yet doing exactly what he intended: Juliet stopped. Still, his eyes softly moved from every set of eyes that looked at him and stopped only on his older brother before he spoke again. "So we just... wait?"

Everyone turned to look at the High King again, even the few centaurs and fauns that made up the private guard; without much of a pause, the oldest King nodded by the time his own eyes rested on the Just king. "We are careful, yes, but we go on," He agreed. "And we wait."

And with that, everyone relaxed once again; Juliet went off to deal with the castle workers, Lord Peridan commanded the guard within the room to go back to their posts of patrol, and everyone else in the room was able to slip back into the safety of the castle, a brand new hope accompanying every single step they took.

Indeed, it was a brand new beginning in Cair Paravel.


	36. Chapter 36

─ ♚ ─

It was a peace so treacherous that no one knew what to do with it; indeed there was a wonderful sense of restfulness within the castle, yet even within that there was no safety to make them all feel as if nothing could go wrong within a single moment. There was silence from Archenland, not a soldier, not a word; a silence so deep and so unkind that not even a reply came when the invitations for the celebration of Queen Lucy's sixteenth birthday were sent out; it was a silence that dug deep within the Pevensie's hearts for the mere reality of a lost friendship and the uncertainty that any day their peace could be broken by a single echo of retaliation from King Lune due to the broken alliance. What was worse was that no one said anything, no one wondered out loud the goings on of the neighbouring country, not but whispered through lovers' ears during nights of worry or wonder; but in public, even outside of bedrooms or private alcoves, not a word was ever said. Indeed, life at Cair Paravel continued as if no fear could ever cloud a noble's mind, when the truth remained that the only unafraid were those many workers and guards that had not been privy to the royal meeting or the words spoken within it the day after the High King's announcement; it was for them that the silence remained, that a sense of joy continued day by day, week by week, that the planning for the celebration of the Valiant Queen's birthday continued without anything but the joy of thought dances, courtship and laughter regardless of the worry that remained within the royals' minds or that of their close friends.

But it was that silence which drove, at least, the youngest king silently mad; it was not but for the time passing through so slowly within such taunting peace that threatened his stability after the first few weeks, when any rider that approached the castle felt like a messenger from Archenland declaring war, or any letter that arrived wrinkled within his nervous fingers whenever he opened them, fearing that any sense of bad news could come to light; as it was, with the passing of the first month the nights became almost a burden, with dreams of death brought forth by King Lune riding the White Witch's sleigh, or a brand new winter burying them all whole somehow by the fault of the Archen king. Worries mixed with fear, and before long, the young King could not possibly sleep alone, unable to understand how everyone else seemed to deal with the horrid silence without going crazy, or wondering if, in the end, they were all as good at hiding it as he was; because he did: he smiled when it was needed, he went on with his duties as he knew he should, and no one was the wiser for the reality of the silent and private King as it ever had been.

Of course, within the normalcy of the outside and the many things they didn't know, Edmund also had never before felt much more thankful for his adoration of the young immortal, Protector of his youngest sister, than after that first month, for his smile became genuine when she was around, his frame completely relaxed around her, and by Aslan, he seemed and felt much happier than any of those nights alone before he had moved to manage sleeping by her side every single night, either in her room, in his, or someplace else no one else could find them in; not that he ever told her such a thing, of course, but the two knew each other well enough by then that Juliet Capulet knew of his worries without him ever saying a word; it was hidden in the thankful kisses they shared in private, or the way he held her more often than ever before, or the way waking up the next day with him by her side had become a normal occurrence even when the two did not go to sleep in the same bed the previous night, or the way in which, endless times after such a thing had become usual, he reached for her in the middle of the night seemingly without even realising it. She knew, he knew she knew, and the gratefulness of their mutual silence about it only brought them all the closer with their unchanging secret relationship regardless of the worries floating above their heads day by day, serving as the other's comfort without the necessity of speaking such a thing out loud; it was the magic of an unspoken love it appeared neither of them really had to voice for the complete acknowledgement of it as the days passed: not one of them said anything about the silent Archenlanders after the first couple of days, not one of them said anything about Juliet's curious illness after the first worry that the King voiced, their peace was unbroken regardless of the uncertainty of their country's peace, and when that worry troubled them they comforted each other in any way possible: distracting, speaking, kissing, touching, loving, simply in any way they could.

And it always worked.

The trouble of it, which the two of them were completely oblivious to regardless of their ever carefulness, was that, at least for those people resting within their sides of the castle, the nearly two-year long secret affair had begun to stop being so secret. Guards on Edmund's side of the castle said nothing about the voices coming from the Just King's bedroom during those nights Juliet managed to end up sleeping there, nor did they wonder too much about the double breakfast that sometimes was requested onto his chambers; the few fauns set to guard the Valiant Queen's side of the castle murmured only amongst themselves about the many times the youngest King slipped into the Eastern Wing without ever disturbing his younger sister's sleep, nor having any need of her; the workers on both their sides of the castle wondered on ways to explain the near-nightly request from Juliet Capulet to never disturb the youngest King whenever he slept in regardless of how some mornings after he was seen walking about the castle his bed was either perfectly well made or it appeared as if it had never even been slept in; and though never during that time the valiant protector was seen arriving late to her duties of the day, sometimes she was seen well underdressed for her position, with her hair loose in curls, and her dresses much simpler than those expected of the Head of Household, as if she had left her room in a hurry. But above all, there was one single suspecting mind much more wishful of prying than the rest, one whose excitement and curiosity led her that fateful night to refuse the comfort of sleep for the single dots she had been connecting day by day and night by night for what felt like the past year; dots such as when her Lady and Protector shared a smile with the youngest King so privately before it disappeared from both their faces, making her think the first few times it had happened that she had imagined it, or when that same King reached a sort of kindness toward the Lady that the valiant girl had only ever seen him do to family or incredibly close friends—holding her books, complimenting her clothes, making small talk regardless of how he had always claimed to hate the act—, or more so, when that King seemed much merrier during breakfast than when he had gone to bed the previous night as it had happened inexplicably nearly every day for the entirety of the previous month.

Indeed, that mind was that of Lucy Pevensie.

She had watched them for days before that sleepless night, noting the soft contact between the two whenever they shared the room; whether it was simply by standing together or managing to slip a gentle grace of their hands here and there, or a touch on the shoulder or the arm, something which the Valiant Queen  _had_ noticed for longer than the past year, but which had seemed like nothing more than the final reconciliation of what had been their many years of hate... until she noticed those specks of contact were inexistent within his friendship with the returned General, Athena Ashdown; noting the coincidental many times during the week that the two were suspiciously missing at the same time; which truly the youngest Queen could not believe she had not even realised had been happening until she put her mind to connecting all the dots; or simply the endless smiles between the two during breakfast, meetings, or truly any other situation in which the two stood in the same room. What was worse was that truly her other siblings, or all of the other nobles in the castle, seemed about as clueless about the whole thing as Lucy herself had been until the steps in the middle of the night began haunting her sleep and waking her up two weeks prior; though it was not until two days before that sleepless night, when she had ventured into the kitchens quite early for a morning snack and thereafter seen Edmund discretely slipping away from the Eastern Wing, probably thinking he was not being seen at all, that she thought she already knew the answer to her own suspicious question before she even decided to bring the subject up to Juliet. But it was that mind of hers, putting things together, observing, and wondering as it was, that refused her sleep that mid-summer night so she could catch some solid proof of what she even slightly hoped was true before she could even ask Juliet anything at all.

Her plan was simple: stay awake, reading under the moon's light, and spy from a tiny opening of her door for the source of the steps that came almost always at the same time every night, just long enough to confirm or deny her suspicions; the way she saw it, she could either catch something that would bring a brand new joy into her heart to accompany the relief of Peter and Athena's finally-found freedom to be together, or she could be the first person in Narnia to confirm the existence of ghosts.

She had a good mind to bet on the former option.

And so she sat there, quiet, barely even paying attention to the words on the book she had picked and simply counting the seconds until the steps came; first it was the guards, leaving like they did every night to protect the entirety of the castle while the royals slept, knowing that no one would be able to slip in without one of them noticing; then it was the candles, slowly going out one by one upon every window and every level of the castle until the only source of light was the brightness of the full moon shining well above their heads, the endless amount of stars to accompany it, and the few torches spread about the castle grounds; and then, finally, it was the silence. A soft breeze played with the trees as they danced south of the castle, making them sing a quiet lullaby to all those awake, the owls hooted their wake up melody and the waves of the ocean crashed harshly against the shore and the rocks near it; every turn of a page echoed softly along the breeze, so she wasn't worried, and then, finally, after the Queen's eyes had begun getting heavier... the steps.

Oh, she had never been more thankful for the stone under her feet, for shoeless she could be as silent as the little mice that she had found feasting in one corner of the kitchen one day; the steps echoed from the stairs at the far other side of the hallway, and thus, she simply stood, her heart beating wild within her chest, her cheeks hurting from the smile her lips lifted as her hands abandoned her book upon the little desk under the big window of her room and rose from the chair she had found comfort on... and then it creaked. She stopped her little walk in the direction of her door, the tips of her toes curling against the stone under her as her lips pressed together because the steps she had heard had stopped as well; who would give in first, she wondered with eyes wide, hands open at her sides, her gaze unmoving as it looked in the direction of the door, and almost even waited for it to open. A second passed, and then two, and three, and almost by the time she was about to give up, the steps came again; they were slower this time, though, quieter, one by one instead of the rush they had attempted before, and because of it Lucy matched them, quietly for the bareness of her feet whilst also even more excited at the echoes of adventure, as tiny as it might be, until finally she reached her door and the steps sounded even closer. Quietly, she pressed her hand against the knob of her door, and just as hushed as she had been before, she began turning it speck by speck, until it had fully given and the door had simply to be pushed to see the source of the very steps that had already passed her door in the direction of Juliet's room almost just across the hall.

The steps that had haunted her for days suddenly stopped, and through the tiny slit of her barely opened door she could finally see the very source of them stopping his walk just in front of her Lady's door: it  _was_ Edmund, standing there looking sombre under the shadows of the night, dressed in his sleeping robes and a rather thin blanket over his shoulders as if it were a cape held in place by a single hand; after a silent second where his eyes travelled both sides of the hall to make sure he wasn't being seen (what would he do if someone  _did_  see him, Lucy wondered), his free hand finally lifted to turn the knob of Juliet's bedroom and pushed so he could silently slip inside, keeping the soft wonder of his eyes as he turned to close the door, looking everywhere he could until the click of Juliet's door echoed all the way to the Valiant Queen's ears and the silence returned once again.

Oh, the young Queen could dance at the joy that lit her heart, a soft reminder of the hope she had felt what felt like a lifetime prior, when Peter had told her of his intentions to marry Juliet; but even with that happiness cursing through her veins, the single bit of proof of Edmund's too-familiar slip into her Lady's room did not seem entirely enough to confirm the very romance she had hoped for and suspected for weeks, because, as it was, the innocent curiosity of her mind (though not  _too_ innocent) placed within her thoughts a single possibility of friendship without enough time, one where, perhaps (if she were to fool herself) they could be playing chess in the middle of the night; and so it was that very curiosity that made the Queen press her lips together as a push of her door freed her from the secrecy of her room and across the hall, tip toeing as she had done before, feeling the chill of the polished stone under her toes, yet welcoming it against the hot summer night until both her hands could rest against the wall neighbour to Juliet's door; she was not so silly as to think she could go unnoticed if she stood against it, for the moonlight was strong enough from the window at the end of the hall to make shadows of her feet if she stood outside of the room. Instead, she simply pressed her whole body against the wall and simply leaned close enough for her ear to be right by the keyhole of the door, easily able to hear the whispers coming from within the room as such: "...mind to seldom wait for thee to arrive before I go to sleep if thou thus continue to choose to join me so late." It was Juliet's voice, playful in a way Lucy had never heard from her before and slipping in a note barely higher than a whisper for the thickness of the walls—it had always been so: no one could ever hear what was going on within a room unless the person within were shouting or someone were standing right outside the door, like Lucy was that night.

"Peter wouldn't leave." Edmund's voice came from the other side of the door, matching Juliet's note easily and accompanied by the shuffling of fabric; a feat enough to make the Valiant Queen's eyes widen alongside her smile. "Besides, you  _can_ go to sleep before me if you're so tired, you know?"

The whisper of Juliet's laugh reached Lucy's ears, and that was almost enough to make her run back to her room with joy, but Juliet's words came faster than her feet could move, "And therefore miss one of the seldom permitted opportunities during the course of the day to be fully close to thee without a wondrous eye to see us? I think not." The shuffle of fabric came again followed by the creak of wood, and though there seemed to be no reply to her words from Edmund, the echoes of what Lucy could only imagine to be smooching became enough of a reply to her. "Aye, indeed, how couldst I possibly fathom missing this?"

"You couldn't." Came the reply from Lucy's brother at last in a note she would never even have imagined to hear from him in the entirety of her life, followed by the return of Juliet's soft whispered laugh, which stopped by another smooching echo before long; but it was not that fact which made the Valiant Queen's hand lift to cover her smiling lips, but the words which followed from his brother after: "I mean, if it's such a burden to you, I could definitely make it worth your while." It sounded as if he were smiling; it sounded happier than Lucy had ever heard him, playful, a voice not used with any of his friends or even his family. He certainly had never spoken to Lucy with  _that_ voice, and for the happiness within it she even felt more joyful than she had even been upon Peter's announcement of his intent to marry Juliet.

Peter had never sounded like that.

She wasn't even able to acknowledge Juliet's equally playful response because of that happiness, or any other words spoken before the echoes of smooching returned to simply make it absolutely clear to the young queen within the joy she felt: they were definitely not playing chess. Indeed, that was perfectly more than she needed, with their dalliant words and what she could only explain as kissing; all the proof she had needed was there, and joy made her move away from her proximity to the door so she could return to her room as quietly as she had left it, barely even able to think of sleep for the joy she so intently wished to share with someone.

Sleep  _did_ eventually find her, though, and the next morning, when Juliet slipped into her room in her simple golden gown and loose curly hair to help her dress and do her hair the way she had done from the moment she had been named her Lady all those years prior, Lucy Pevensie held a brand new reason to smile as she slipped out of her covers to greet the brand new day. "Good morning!" She said as Juliet placed a tiny bowl of water atop Lucy's vanity desk.

"Good morrow," her Lady echoed, amber eyes as happy to greet the day as Lucy's appeared, and it was that fact which, after the months of tension within the castle, it seemed the immortal seemed to want to focus on when she said: "Thou look'st specially happy this day," she complimented. "Good dreams?"

Now that she had her proof, the Valiant Queen refused to keep quiet about what she had suspected and now knew, and it was for it that she sat comfortably upon the stool before her vanity, shook her head, and coyly said: "Good reality." Before her hands dipped into the bowl of water and she focused on washing her face; but it wasn't really until Juliet had set her chosen dress upon the bed and had begun brushing her hair free of the tangles from what little sleep she had gotten (she'd forgotten to braid her hair in all the excitement), that she even thought of bringing up the very subject which had kept her smiling from the moment she had woken up. Granted, she attempted the fact with the outmost discretion, but the smile upon her lips refused to disappear: "You look especially radiant today yourself, Juliet." She began, almost as if continuing the very compliment given by her Lady after the mindless talk of which dress she chose to wear that day and which hairstyle.

Though her hands did not stop what they were doing, the curiosity of Juliet's amber eyes attempted to meet the young Queen's upon the reflection of the mirror; even a little smile lifted her lips within her bewilderment as she asked "Do I?" Even her fingers broke the tangles of the teen's hair; so used to such activities allowed her the freedom of small distraction.

But even the little confusion in her Lady's eyes seemed enough to make Lucy that much more focused on what she wanted confirmation on, as so she held back with a clear of her throat while her head bobbed in a nod, even with the other's hands so focused on the tangles, "You do," she admitted, tired of the discretion she had attempted over the single urgency driven within her veins as she led the truth from smiling lips: "To me, anyway, and I know why." Her eyes simply refused to move away from the reflection of her Lady's bewildered features.

"Indeed?" she wondered, though clearly unafraid and simply playing along with her Queen if anyone could judge by the lift of her own lips, or the way her eyes danced from the disappearing tangles of her hair to the blue eyes looking into hers from the mirror's surface and back; no worry, no suspicion, not any single thing to mark that day as any different than all of the rest, even with the tension between countries, even with the many things that had changed for her, duty wise, since the people from Archenland had left the castle. "What, pray tell, be that reason?" If anything, the ease with which she spoke only made the youngest queen more excited to finally be privy to the secrets of Juliet Capulet and Edmund Pevensie.

It was that very premise, in fact, which inspired the queen to turn around upon the stool, stealing the horse-hair brush from the immortal's fingers for the tangle it was attempting to undo, and surprising the other enough for her brows to rise and the lift of her lips to become wider for the amusement of the action. "Edmund came to visit you last night." The Queen said, lips smiling, hands managing to rid her hair from the stuck brush, and her eyes almost even expectant onto Juliet's; and she wasn't disappointed. Almost immediately, as if someone had slapped it away, the Lady's smile completely disappeared, her eyes widened, and her lips began attempting to form words; truly, if the words and sounds she had heard the previous night hadn't been enough confirmation for the Valiant Queen, then the perplexed expression of Juliet's would have been. "And not for the first time either, I wager." Yes, she knew; and now that she could express it so plainly, she didn't even try to hide it; instead the young queen wanted her friend to admit it, to tell her everything, to explain how it was that the hatred she and Edmund had seemed to hold for each other for years turned into the very echoes of romance she had heard the previous night. She wanted to know how long it had been happening for; she wanted to know how serious it was, how they had kept it secret, and why.

But all her Lady could do was further confirm what the Valiant Queen already knew by blinking a few times, lowering her hands to grip at the sides of her golden dress, and spout rather nervous words: "I—I... nay, m-my Queen, his majesty merely—I-he—he only visited because—"

Lucy wouldn't let her lie. "I knew it!" She exclaimed, rising from her seat and placing the brush mindlessly atop the vanity as her eyes looked almost accusingly in her Lady's direction. "You only get proper when you're nervous or when you've been caught doing something, and right now it  _has_  to be both!" What else did Juliet expect? It wasn't as if Lucy Pevensie didn't know her and all her quirks after seven years of being friends, just like the immortal knew hers; they were best friends for a reason. "It's true, and I don't know for how long, but you and Edmund are together!" the accusation wasn't even hidden behind a question anymore, because the protector's actions only affirmed what she already knew further, and there was simply no point in pretending otherwise; she didn't even have to confess to have overheard them the night before (what little of it she heard, at least), the blush in Juliet's cheeks was enough to confirm every single thing.

"I—Lucy, please, I beg of thee, lower thy voice." Juliet attempted, but the young Queen would not give in.

No, because how could she? Her best friend and her brother were kissing in private, sounding as if it sleeping on the same bed was something as common as having a meal together, and nothing could be better than that; happiness was too tame a word for what she felt. "You're together!" She repeated, reaching for her friend's hands regardless of the other's attempts at quieting her; instead she simply couldn't stop talking. "For how long? When did it start?  _How_  did it start?"

"Lucy—"

"Do you love him? Oh, by Aslan, does he love  _you?_  How can you keep it so secret?"

"Please, Lucy..."

" _Why_  are you keeping it secret? Is it because of Peter? Because you must know he doesn't care about that, after everything that happened this past year, and Athena, you've  _got_  to—AHH!" Compared to the echoes of the queen's scream, everything she had been saying before sounded like a whisper; but what else was she supposed to do when Juliet's hands had somehow moved away from her hold so they could push her as strongly as she could away from her and the man the Valiant Queen had been too entirely distracted to notice come in through the window she was very much angled away from; the clutter from many objects of her desk falling to the floor in thuds and shatters were enough wreck left behind his otherwise silent attempts to intrude, easily matched by the echoes of pain from Juliet Capulet the moment the man's dagger, which had been raised and stretched before him in attempts at striking Lucy, met the thin fabric of her sleeves and the flesh of the back of her arms.

What was worse was the speed with which everything happened; one moment the queen had been entirely enthralled with the events of the previous night, trying as hard as she could to pry all the details away from Juliet's lips, and the next she was on the floor, Juliet was bleeding and still reaching for the daggers hidden under her sleeves, and Lucy's own dagger was resting on the stone floor among the many other things that had fallen from her desk, completely blocked off from her by the sudden fight between her Lady and the man who had just attempted to kill her. "Juliet!" Lucy called, as the man's dagger stoke in the Protector's direction again, only this time it was easily stopped by her learned armed hands, even with her sleeves tainted by the blood from the dagger which had cut her, her hold was strong upon the pair of silver daggers, and that would have been enough if she had been watching for the attacker's free hand, which easily met in a fist with her stomach and thus made her double over in short pain enough for the attacker to push her aside with attempts of reaching Lucy again.

Her knife was much too far away from her, and all she could do was try to get up from the floor to reach for the door or fight, or  _anything,_  but indeed her mind was clouded, terrified by her own defencelessness even as her instincts begged her to prepare to kick the moment he got too close, watching as the man's black-clad body grew larger and larger as he grew near—but then it stopped with the echo of his own grunt of pain. Yes, it would have been comical if it weren't for the threat to her own life, for the man had even almost doubled back before turning around to fight Juliet, who had struck him on the leg with the silver of her daggers regardless of how her hands refused, now bloody, to let go of the familiar black and gold handles with all the strength she owned. She attempted to strike again the second she stood tall once again, but the attacker's own dagger lifted to meet hers; it became a quick dance where the man attempted blade and fists to fight the tinnier Lady with the pair of silver daggers, reaching for books and glass to meet the fight, striking again in Lucy's direction the moment the young Queen attempted to reach for her knife; until her intentions became clear within the unfortunate wit of the man, and Juliet's daggers were matched by the man's and Lucy's in his hand once he had found it, throwing the belt it stuck to in the Protector's direction as he tried to move for Lucy one more time. "I BEG THEE, RUN; CALL THE GUARDS!" Where were they, anyway? Lucy wondered as the clinging of the weapons echoed in the room, met with blood from Juliet's arms along the side of her stomach, where the man had been able to strike during their treacherous dance, and the man's own crimson trail from his leg and his face onto the floor, where Juliet's daggers had struck him; how had the man been able to reach her window? How was it that no one had come yet, not to help, not to warn, not anything; where were they?! Another grunt of pain forwent every thought the Queen could have, and the image she thereafter lifted her eyes to see was one of as much horror as relief.

Relief because the grunt from pain had been the man's, whose chest, stomach, and throat were all bleeding freely onto her bedroom floor as he fell as quickly as the life began to leave him, Juliet's daggers tainted with his crimson lifeline for the freshness of their strike; and horror because as strong as the Protector remained standing for the few moments it took the man to die, the golden fabric of her dress coloured by splatter and splotches of blood both hers and his alike, before long, with a single movement and the song of the falling silver of her daggers, Juliet began to fall as well.

Immediately, Lucy ran to her.

There was blood everywhere, and as Juliet's body met the ground, the young queen could note everything that was simply wrong with the image: the girl's golden dress was as much a mess as everything else that lay on the ground upon that moment, and for a second, as Lucy scrambled for the little cordial she had saved endless lives with (thankfully unshattered where the belt had fallen), she couldn't even tell the pools of her best friend's blood separate from the ones of the man who had attacked her; indeed the gashes on the back of Juliet's arms, which had been her first wound at attempting stopping the dagger from falling on Lucy, weren't even the worst of it. There was a slice upon her forehead which bled mightily, the side of her stomach tainted the stone beside it with the blood it released, but the worst of it all was the very iron dagger that Juliet seamlessly pulled out from just under her left breast, allowing it to clatter to the ground alongside the very blood that spilled upon it. "L-Lucy, stop," Juliet attempted, reaching a bloody hand in her direction regardless of the shakiness of her breath; before, everything had seemed so far away, yet now, as her best friend and attacker lay on the ground bleeding, the belt where her cordial rested was too close, and her dagger still held tightly within the dead man's hand, yet Juliet had stopped her from reaching for the belt at all. "Do-don't waste it on me." She said, but she could barely even breathe as her head turned to look in her direction; the words were jaded, her lips became tainted with the blood spreading horribly within her in ways it shouldn't be, "I-I ca... I cannot die, r-remember?"

Finally, the door to Lucy's room burst open, and every one of her siblings slipped inside in many stages of undress regardless of the weapons they carried; from still worn bed clothes to no more than shirts and undergarments in place, stopping just inside the door to witness the bloody scene before them: Juliet's near inability to breathe, the shakiness of her words, the slowing of her breath, the eventual closing of her eyes, Lucy kneeling beside her with blood on her nightgown and fresh tears tainting her cheeks clean. Behind the royals were the guards, some bloody, some breathing much too fast; but at that moment, after the wellbeing of her family was so brutally announced by the bursting of her door, Lucy Pevensie could only truly think of one thing: her best friend, Lady, and Protector had saved her life, ending the life of a man who had attempted to kill her; but in result, as it was clear by the trail of blood left behind her the moment a pair of fauns picked her up to take her away from the room...

It appeared Juliet Capulet was slowly dying as well.


	37. Chapter 37

 ─ ♚ ─

_Dying is easy; it's coming back that hurts like hell._

Or at least that was what Juliet thought as every single bone of her body ached and every surface of her skin stung; her magically beating heart felt heavy upon her chest, the lids of her eyes begged to be shut for a long, long time, and every single gash and scratch upon her body reminded her of the very moment she had died at the feet of her beloved Queen. She didn't cry, because she didn't even think she could, but she hurt, even sitting at the private seat of the infirmary's own hygiene station; in fact, it was there that she hurt the most, the gash at the side of her stomach slightly opened once again popping a single stitch and tainting the white of her robe for the pain she felt at the mere instance of something so common as going to the loo. But the thing was, it felt different, it felt horrible, it felt as if every single inch of her hips were being pulled apart by knives, needles, and the strong hands of an Ettinsmoor giant regardless of how none of the wounds she had suffered had punctured any part of her digestive system; the pain was so arduous and awful that she wanted to even scream about it, but the single reminder that Edmund Pevensie waited for her at the other side of the door was enough to keep her pain silent, for the last thing she wanted was for him to burst into the room to see her bleeding from the side once again and almost even crying for a pain so horrible at something so common as going for a wee, which was the thing she had been meaning to do.

It didn't sting, it didn't hurt as if she had been cut somewhere she hadn't even realised, because she hadn't, but it simply _hurt_ ; nothing but the faint and nearly forgotten reminder of what pains she had felt when her blood had come for the first time, not upon her stomach but the place where her womb would have hidden, as if nails dug deep within her frame and the blood poured out for the first time in her whole life, making her a woman; a pain she would receive every single month under the same circumstances; that was the only thing young Juliet could compare that pain she felt as a single silent tear trailed down a shattered cheek. Of course, upon that moment, resting immortal within the world of Narnia, the possibility of it being the very thing the agony reminded her of was as impossible as it was for her to truly eternally die, for she hadn't bled since the moment Romeo Montague had buried the blade of his dagger deep into the confines of her heart, not as the mere spirit she had been, trapped in the nothingness of what she had long called the Mist of Forgetting or Torture, not as a possessing soul during any of her many missions for the Protectors, and not even when she had been gifted life by the Great Lion upon the creation of Narnia itself; not once had her monthly blood come and not once had she felt the horrible pains she had felt when she had still been living.

At least, not until that moment as she held back any echo of her agony from escaping her lips and the tips of her fingers curled on the white fabric of her infirmary robe. Just how badly had she been hurt? She wondered, breathing and feeling as if a giant immediate release was given to her only moments later, when the agony she had felt disappeared almost as quickly as it had come, leaving the girl frowning for the discontent of her own aches, and the gash at the side of her stomach and the one under her left breast trickling blood onto the white fabric of her robe. What was worse, in truth, was not even the strangeness of the situation or the pain that had claimed her, but the amount of clotted blood and strange tissue that she could see within the waste-seat (as it was called in Narnia) the moment she finally cleaned herself and sat up; God, she didn't understand it, and her lack of a bloody death before the one she had suffered only two weeks prior didn't help what little knowledge she had of the sort of strange immortal human she was, because there she had been, dead for days, almost even a week as she had been told, with almost every single member of the royal family even getting ready to bury her with the exception of Edmund and Lucy, who refused to give up when they knew she had once died before during the reign of the White Witch, "But what if being killed by a blade is worse?" Peter had asked them, as sorrowful as the rest of the Pevensies, Athena, Lord Peridan, and every single member of the household that had worked under Juliet for years. "What if dying frozen is something she could easily come back from because she hadn't been hurt? What if this death is permanent?"

"It's been days," Lucy had easily told him, refusing to let go of the Protector's cold hand. "You and I both know that if she were dead for good, she would have begun rotting already, and she hasn't. She doesn't even smell bad."

"They bathed her, Lucy; of course she's not going to smell bad." Susan had said whilst sending continuous looks in Edmund's direction when he refused to look away from the deceased girl. A day later, though, every single wound she had had began bleeding once again, and moments later Juliet finally did open her eyes to the relief of the royals, who had been taking turns watching over her while the rest tried to figure out everything else; thus, indeed, the death she had suffered from the cold upon the Witch's reign had been unwatched and unacknowledged by anyone other than her, so who could know how any other death could react upon her body? She had slept for many more days, waking up for small amounts of time enough to comfort whichever royal rested upon the chair beside her bed, but not enough to eat, or drink, or truly hold a conversation longer than a minute or two; she had bled from her wounds until they had been stitched, refusing a drop of Lucy's cordial to be wasted on her when no death she received could be eternal; but it hadn't been until that very day, when she pulled the lever of the waste-seat so the little door at the bottom would open and make all the horror that worried her so disappear, that she had been able to even stand, sit, or walk.

As it was, she had needed help getting to the hygiene room in the first place, with her limbs so weak and her wounds still so fresh (not for anything they had bled through the stitches moments prior) that any single movement hurt her in one way or another; it was Edmund, who had nearly cried in front of her the first time she had woken up with him sitting on that chair by her bed and remained the one who had been caring for her more than any of the others—using the excuse that there was not much he could do otherwise and it was better he looked after her than them, who could do more than him politically-wise; even if he knew such a thing was not entirely true—, who had even helped her up moments prior. And it was him who would have to help her back to bed regardless of the horror which would remain upon her face by the time she called him; it was simply all new to her, for having died so violently and so bloodily for the first time since she had been given her second life. Could the blood and tissue wasted easily by the pull of a lever be the way her body got rid of the death that had claimed her for days, or was it something else? Her body had already begun acting strangely for months if she could judge by the many times she had been unable to keep any meal down before the attempt on Lucy's life, so what else was she supposed to do but worry about just how badly she had been hurt or how strangely her body reacted to it all?

The only thing she knew, now more than ever after dying such a painful death, was that she couldn't  _stay_  dead for long, so whatever it was that had been or was wrong with her body couldn't be bad enough to warrant enough of a worry to infect Edmund with by the time she opened the door of the hygiene room to find him biting his nails as he rested against the wall just by the very door she opened; she couldn't stay dead, so other than the strangeness of her discomfort, why should she worry even herself? "Are you okay?" The King quickly wondered, his eyes tired and worried all at once, looking her over the second she had come out of the room, and reaching for her almost as quickly for the very evidence of exhaustion in her eyes which the effort of walking only the couple of steps she had had to walk to open the door had caused her; all whilst the little frown that had ever remained upon his forehead from the very first time she had opened her eyes to see him sitting by her side deepened for the visual of the few spots of crimson that tainted her otherwise perfectly white robe. "You're bleeding."

And what else could gentle Juliet do but nod as her hands held tightly onto his while he attempted to help her, "Not but a few drops, I promise; I will be fine." Still, her feet dragged against the hard stone floor slowly with every step she took. "Perhaps I should have used the chamber pot." She shortly joked, wincing at the very pain brought forth by every movement of her body as it made her wounds shift and sting deep enough for her to even imagine it hurt all the way to her bones; hell, even the gashes upon her head and cheek hurt, and they weren't even moving.

"Screw this, you're done walking." Edmund quickly said, the frown deep enough upon his forehead to shadow his eyes as he swiftly moved to attempt lifting Juliet off her feet with an arm under her knees; but, well, she  _was_ stubborn, and the single reality of her own immortality made her feel as if every second anyone wasted on taking care of her was nothing more than that: a waste, because no matter what happened to her, no matter how much pain she was in, nothing that could happen to her could actually take her life; not for more than a few days, at least; so she tried moving away from his attempts.

The very same attempts he had done when she had even voiced her need to use the toilet in the first place, in fact.

"Why won't you let me carry you?" Edmund wondered within a short tone of annoyance as his eyes searched her face for an answer; for once, he found none; nothing but her stubbornness and the harshness with which she held his hand and arm. "You're  _clearly_  hurting, you've walked enough."

Juliet's amber eyes lifted to nearly glare in his direction, but even such an expression couldn't last long before her face shifted onto the silent wince of pain brought by every single movement she made; still, she tried to place a faulty sort of logic so the two could continue their trip to the bed assigned to her: "How else wouldst thou suppose I shall heal if I nay'r push myself?" Even her words didn't sound as convinced as she had hoped them to.

Of course, to the shock of no one, the young king simply scoffed out a breath and rolled his eyes, "It's been  _two_  weeks, Juliet, and you  _have_ pushed yourself already." He declared with the company of the halt of their steps before he forced one of her hands away from one arm so he could move a second attempt at carrying her at last. "You're done walking." He repeated, fighting against Juliet's weak attempts at moving away until he could finally do what he had wished to do to help her from the moment she had even proposed the idea of leaving her bed.

"Ed!" She called, wincing and finding a speck of strength for her own stubbornness. "No! Let me—Edmund!" But, well, eventually, the pain upon her flesh and every bone within her did become so much that even she couldn't fight against him anymore; in the end, she rested in his arms (one under her knees and the other by the middle of her back, almost curling her against his chest before he began the walk toward the bed she had been supposed to not even leave), weak as she was and most definitely relieved of pain enough so the spite of not getting her own way could be acknowledged by a scoff of her own regardless of how her arms found comfort and safety around his neck; as if her body and her mind were in completely opposite sides of the spectrum. "By Aslan, thou art hateful." She told him like a stubborn child for her mere inability to walk (one which only angered her for the ridiculousness of having to heal slowly at all), but the tone of her voice, whilst angry, didn't sound serious even to her own ears.

Clearly, by the ease of his own sarcasm, it hadn't sound serious to Edmund either, "And you're infuriating," he told her with a raised brow as they reached her bed and he began to place her carefully on it. "But you don't see me complaining about it, do you?" The only response he got was Juliet's shortly rolling eyes, which only tightened closed shortly after with the pain it took her to get comfortable on the bed once again. It was funny, really, the way the two spoke to each other the way they perhaps once might have done under the cloak of hatred, when not one word they spoke to each other could truly fool anyone who listened (nor themselves, really) to believe any word to be truthfully angry or damning upon them; especially when, alike that moment, only a few seconds later, Edmund's hands were carefully placing the blanket of the infirmary bed atop her body with nothing but the concern edging across his gaze. "Do you want some water?" He wondered then, as if they hadn't been silently cussing at each other a moment prior, "Something to eat? I can call someone to—"

"Nay, there be no need," The girl interrupted, finally opening her eyes as a short breath escaped shaky from her lips and she attempted gulping down the knot brought forth by the very agony driven through every speck of her body; who would have thought healing from a death would hurt so badly? "I couldst seldom drink before, I'd not expect I could do so now," she stopped to breathe, the hand closest to the chair that the young King had been sitting on previously moving with short encouragement so he'd return there now. "I can but think upon the nuisance of such pains within this broken shell and wonder for the curse of eternal life without the hopes of healing quicker thus; there be nay'r a thing else within this mind but that. No drink or meal could change it, I am sure."

With no more than a short shake of Edmund's worried head, he moved to sit upon that chair once again, moving it as close as it had been before: close enough for him to have fallen asleep holding her hand. "You could still let Lucy help you," he offered, not bothering to look around to make sure that no one saw him hold her hand again in both of his for the single reality that he knew there was no one else within the infirmary; all the other soldiers who had been wounded two weeks prior  _had_ accepted a drop of Lucy's healing cordial. "I'm sure she'd be here in less than a second if I told her you'd changed your mind."

It didn't surprise Edmund to see Juliet's head shortly shaking. "Wasted on the likes of I," She said, her gaze resting on his at last for the single truth she spoke; one which she attempted to comfort him against by what little squeeze of his hand she could manage. "I know thou must agree," She tried, only resulting on the fall of Edmund's gaze to the hand he refused to let go of, and the familiar frown returning to the middle of his forehead, hating, for once, that she knew him as well as she did. "For be not her cordial meant for those who death can claim? Indeed, I ache, but this agony may seldom prove mortal to me while a pain such as this could cause a mortal's true death as much as infection would, thus, aye, I must endure where others should not, for I cannot die, and I wouldst die ten more times before I stole someone else's opportunity to live."

 _Oh, why must you be so good?_  Edmund silently wondered; resting his forehead against her hand for a moment as his own worry made the tiredness of his body feel deeper than it had seconds before.  _Can you not see that it hurts me to see you like this?_ "It's not fair." He said at last, lifting his head regardless of the way he refused to look at her for a couple of beats more, because when he did, he knew exactly the sort of look she would be giving him: the one that disagreed with him for the righteousness of her own morals. "That you should hurt this much, I mean." Only then did he dare look at her.

To his surprise, after the disappearing look he knew he would have met before, she smiled; "Aye," She squeezed his hand once again, if anything, for the single agreement she attempted. "What, indeed, be the point of immortality if I should suffer thus."

All the young king could do was bob his head in a nod; one which spoke of much more than his own agreement regardless of the silence that remained only for as long as the swiftness of his thoughts made the single query blurt out from his lips: "Do you know why it is?" He wondered as the small familiar frown returned to its previous place; or perhaps it simply had never left. "Why you don't just heal quickly, I mean." He continued, fighting against the knot in the middle of his throat, brought back only for the image he had been seldom able to get away from his mind, of Juliet's pale corpse, her chest still, her cheeks as white and lifeless as the rest of her, never to blush again, and all the blood... lord, all that blood. "You died, Juliet." She told her, as if she hadn't been aware, as if she hadn't been the one bleeding to death by her Queen's feet. "I never knew how immortality would work, but I always assumed—" He did have to force the knot down by a strong gulp and the tightening of his hold upon her hands, because that image... it haunted him. The loss of her, it had hurt him so much that he had been unable to sleep for at least three nights, waking from nightmares full of all the horrors within him and Juliet's mauled corpse somewhere in them too whenever exhaustion did happen to make his eyes close. He had to clear his throat too, "I always thought you would simply never die." He confessed. "I mean, at all; not even for a little bit. I always thought you'd simply heal of anything that touched you, and live, but..." No, the knot tightening his sorrow around his neck like a noose simply would not give.

Juliet's hand returned the tightness of his hold for the sake of the comfort she could not entirely give, not unless she wished to worry him more for the pain even moving would bring her, "Thou hath known of my death within that cave before thy arrival in Narnia." She attempted, moving only so she could rest more towards the side that was not as hurt so she could face him without the short pain her neck was beginning to curse her with.

Edmund's eyes fell away from her as his head bobbed in a short nod where he attempted to get rid of the treacherous knot once again, "I know, but..." He gulped again. "I guess part of me still thought"—or hoped, really, but he wouldn't say  _that_  out loud, not even to her—"you could have just fallen asleep and not realised it, or... I don't know; something like that." Because then he would never have had to live what he had, seeing her dead, truly dead, enough that Peter and Susan would probably have buried her if he and Lucy didn't intervene. "But you died, and now..." His head shook as the heaviness of a worried breath left through parted lips. "Now you're not healing fast enough, and I don't understand why." Dying should be enough, he thought; she shouldn't have to suffer so much after.

The protector could truly only use her free hand to brush short locks of hair away from his forehead, even if shortly after they fell there once again; at least that much movement didn't hurt her more than a little nuisance. "I must confess, I know not the reason," she told him, lowering her hand to rest atop his on hers for the comfort she attempted. "I know only that for which I must remain: my vow to the High Protectors, to aid the souls of lovers from falling in Romeo's path, and for it no death may touch me here," she paused, almost even mirroring the soft frown upon his forehead. "For this once was a place of nothing," she continued, lifting her gaze from their hands without even having realised it had fallen in the first place. "T'was the place I was set to wait in until I was needed, and though it now holds life and therefore  _gave_ me a life I couldst enjoy and love, it holds the same purpose that it once did: that I must wait here evermore for my duty, and never die."

The young king almost even sat at the edge of his seat; even if only to be as close to her without hurting her, the way he perhaps could if he were to lay by her side. "That, I understand, I really do," and hell, he was thankful for it, too, because it meant that no matter what happened to him, he could never lose her the way he truly had thought he had only a few days prior. "But why hurt?" He wondered again, the pad of his thumb gracing the back of her hand as he did. "Why heal so slowly? What is the point of being immortal if you must suffer the same pain  _we_  do? It doesn't..." He released a soft breath. "It doesn't make sense to me."

"Nor I, if I be honest," The young immortal agreed within a short chuckle tainted with short agony as the sting of her wounds upon the comfort she had found on that bed returned for only a moment, as if to emphasise the King's words. "But I wish it not away, only for its meaning." She said regardless.

"What's that?" King Edmund wondered, almost begging her to make sense of something he thought so unfair with every sharp breath she took.

Her eyes opened from the pang that had made her close them as her lips pressed in a line for a moment long enough to make Edmund worry that she hurt more than she let on; and, well, they did know each other well enough by now for him to be almost positive such was the case. "That I am as human as thou art," she confessed with the hint of a smile lifting the corners of her lips even with the exhaustion written in her features. "Therefore I must heal and suffer alike thou wouldst if thy flesh were scarred."

Indeed; if only he didn't love her so much that her pain hurt him as well. Of course, he didn't say such a thing, and instead nodded a short agreement as another strong gulp attempted to relieve the knot from the middle of his throat as the mention of his own flesh scarring brought forth the very subject he had hoped to inform her about now that she was awake, "Which reminds me," He began, rising from his chair shortly so he could move it in hopes that he could be close enough to her head so she didn't have to strain to see him anymore. "It almost was," he sat down again, now as close as he was able to be. "Scarred, I mean. Me."

At that, Juliet's little frown only deepened. "What?" She wondered, her hands reaching for him all the more for the mere images her brain concocted at the single idea of his being hurt.

Edmund nodded. "Lucy's assassin," he began, holding her hand only with one of his as his other one rested upon the bed, playing at plucking little balls of fluff from the blanket covering her body. "He wasn't the only one. There was one for the rest of us, too." Finally, he looked at her; when she said nothing and the only thing to give away her own fear and worry was the depth of her frown and the shadow on her amber eyes, all he could think of doing was to continue with everything he had hoped to tell her from the moment it had come into his head.

The past few days without her had been a torture, considering she was always the first one he told things to.

"Yeah, it turns out the assassins, whomever they were, came just at the time the guards began changing towards their morning posts," he told her, grazing the softness of her arm with the hand that had stopped hunting for fluff balls on the otherwise smooth blanket. "They were entirely dressed in black, and not one of us could recognise those who had died, and the last one, the one that went for Susan..." his head shook. "I guess he didn't expect her to fight back, but of course she did." He looked at their hands again. "She managed to knock him out, and he's rotting in a cell in the dungeons."

"Did he talk?" Juliet wondered, her eyes dancing on Edmund's features as if that alone were to respond all of her questions; but of course, as ever, his expression was as stoic as whenever he was worried. "Speak'st he who sent him?"

Of course the king's head shook. "He said a name, but it's no one we can find." The frown upon his forehead deepened, and this time the stoic expression broke for the anger that the helplessness brought. "So he's either lying, or the person who hired him made up a name; I don't know, but everything in my gut tells me it was King Lune." He confessed, refusing to keep his own thoughts quiet when he hadn't kept a single musing from her for nearly two years. "Who else would know our guards' schedule so well but someone who lived here for a little more than a year?"

To his surprise, Juliet's head shortly bobbed in a nod. "I must confess: his was the first name I thought of when that man came through the window;" she paused. "Nay'r for thy reason, but aye," it was an admission she had decided to not speak, but Edmund's own security became such that the option of silence no longer seemed logical. "For he has been silent all this time, and seldom have I been able to accept it."

"Me too," Edmund agreed with a release of a breath; but that much Juliet knew, for he had been sleeping in her bedroom for so long due to that worry that she almost knew the worry as if it were her own. "But what makes all of this more frustrating is that we have no proof it was him," Even if he hadn't spoken of the annoyance out loud, Juliet would have known there was something going on; his brow remained furrowed, his brown eyes shadowed with the worry he carried, and his every limb was tense, even the hands that held her own or touched her. "So we can't accuse him, or confront him about it without us starting a war; instead all we can do is tighten security and keep an eye on all action from Archenland in silence."

"What of Lucy?" Juliet wondered, the concern on her features evident even only by her voice. "What of Susan and Peter? What of the workers and the guard? Be all of them alright?"

And there it was, one of the reasons Edmund Pevensie ever admired the girl that had taken over his heart: there she rested, more hurt than any of them had been, bleeding, having even died, and all she could think of upon that moment was everyone else within the castle; those she worked with, those that worked for her, those she served. That alone could be enough to make the frown disappear from his forehead, because at that moment all he wanted to do was smile: she was much more righteous than he ever could be regardless of how much he had learnt. "They're fine." He told her the moment his eyes fell to look at the softness of her skin again. "Only a little scared, really; anyone who  _did_ get hurt was quickly healed with Lucy's cordial, so there were no fatalities." That bit of news, at least, was one he didn't feel bad at sharing. "And, I mean, Lucy's been acting weird around me, for some reason, sending me in here and asking me how I am very often, so there's that too; but I think that's more of— what?"

Well, Juliet had begun laughing within a soft breath, but that breath sharpened by the pain she felt when the pain of her wounds grew within the movements of her laughter; "I believe it be my fault, that." She confessed in a broken voice; gulping the knot grown from the pain of her wounds as her free hand rested against the side of her stomach, where the sting had been worse. "Just..." She released a breath, soothing the short agony that had taken over her to match Edmund's comforting hands, which had attempted soothing her a little more the moment the pain became evident. "Just before that assassin came in, Lucy had been talking to me," she nodded, opening her eyes again so she could look at him; she wasn't surprised to see the concern hiding under the little lift of his lips. "She hath confessed to have seen thee the night before, as thou slipped into my room." Her eyes closed again as if that alone could soothe the pulses of her heart from remaining where the organ was instead of every slash upon her body; still, for the sake of the King's worry and the lighter subject she there meant to speak of, the young immortal forced the words to leave her lips. "She thus hath told me: she knew..." She gulped again, forcing her eyes to open. "...of us. I couldst barely beg her to keep quiet when the window opened and... well... thou know'st of the rest."

The understanding in the Just King's eyes became enough to make the smile across his lips genuine enough for it to reach his otherwise tired eyes; "Yes, that would explain it," He said, his head shaking for the single amusement of how Lucy had been acting whilst a single  _mmm,_  of confirmation from Juliet reached his ears; indeed Lucy had been smiling at him the way she had when they had been working on Peter's issue with Athena, as if she knew a secret only he was privy of; she had offered him to take Juliet her food every day she had been asleep, she had held a smile upon her lips whenever he looked away from Juliet within the worry that begged to floor him, and she almost even helped him convince Peter and Susan to leave him in the infirmary while they went to take care of the Archenland problem (regardless of how neither of them could really do much on that part), telling him to be sure not to touch her too much due to the pain Juliet was in... suddenly all of it made much more sense than his own worry had allowed him to think of. "I have to admit," he said whilst looking at the very hand he held, with the soft skin and the fragility it seemed to carry regardless of the calluses that had grown upon her palms from her training with the daggers she seemed to love so much to have resting by her bed even then; the daggers that had saved his sister. "Part of me is sort of relieved she knows," he said, tracing the lines of her veins against the back of her hand, breathing slightly more relaxed than before even as he spoke. "I've actually been thinking..." he continued. "...when you died... when I saw you there, bleeding on the ground, I wanted to do nothing more than run to you, and, I don't know, cry, or something. But I just... I couldn't, because no one knew, and everyone was worried, and I didn't—I just didn't want that to be the first thing they knew of us, or have anyone ask instead of focusing on helping you, so I just didn't. But all of that, all this time you've been here," his hands wrapped around hers again, his eyes closing as every single speck of the worry and sorrow that had overtaken him for her death before returned, almost exactly the way it had when her eyes had first opened, when the tears had been unable to be held back from his eyes. "I was just so... worried, I guess. And I just... I kept thinking..." He paused, unable to look at her for the emotions he was still not great at speaking of; nor, he thought, he would ever be, really. "Why are we even hiding this anymore? It's been so long now that I can't—I can't even imagine  _not_ being with you, and I know what you're going to say about my prospects and the future, but what  _of_ the future, why should  _we_  care? Whatever girl my siblings try to pair up with me won't be the same as you, and I'm not sure I even  _want_ —oh." Oh, indeed, because while the great tale of Edmund's emotions had been attempting to become some sort of intelligent concoction in his lips, the girl he had been speaking to had fallen asleep from the very exhaustion that walking and moving so much had brought her; indeed, her hand rested in his, but her eyes were closed, and her chest rose and fell within the relaxation of her breath as she slept, her other hand resting softly against the side of her stomach.

She looked so peaceful with the little lift of her lips even against the paleness of her weakened flesh that Edmund Pevensie didn't even have the heart in him to be embarrassed at having been speaking to the wind or the fact that it was his emotions he had been speaking of; instead, all he could do was release the soft echo of a breath to match the hint of his smile as he relaxed against the chair he sat on. "We'll talk later," he told her, lifting her hand to kiss its back softly for a moment before he lowered it to the surface of the bed again, finally rising from the chair with plans of taking care of things he had been simply unable to take care of since she had died, even going so far as to lean toward her to also press a soft kiss against the top of her head, resting his forehead against hers only for a moment until he said: "I just don't ever want to lose you again."

It only really took a couple of seconds more for the young King to stand straight, lift a hand to wipe away the single tear hat had fallen unwanted against his cheek, and turn around to walk to the great exit of the infirmary, hopeful and at peace for the first time since Juliet had died at the feet of his youngest sister.


	38. Chapter 38

─ ♚ ─

He didn't even know how it happened, he couldn't, for his duty was not more than the polishing of the royal jewels and guarding them, making sure they were all there; indeed, the faun had a boring job most of the time, but he did it with love, dedication, and absolute joy, because he had always loved solitude, silence, and even the dark, and the job assigned to him had all of those combined. Of course, if there was anything the royal faun could be sure of, other than the strangeness of that morning's situation, was that no one had slipped into the treasury during the entirety of the night, for the only way in or out was the very door he slept in front of; sure, he didn't know if it had appeared at some point in the night, or if it had been there since he had left the room the previous day, but neither of those options truly mattered, because all he  _did_  know was that there was a brand new crown resting upon the centre of the room, one that had never before existed. It was definitely beautiful, no more than a silver halo of intricate ivy leaves adorned with the tiniest of thorns; the sort that could hurt no one, but always rested along the body of roses alike the ones that contrasted its silver with perfect rubies in the shape of their petals along the crown, so small and detailed that one would have to truly look closely to be privy to their majesty; indeed, it was more silver than any other material, but any detail was unimportant when the truth that it had never before been in the room was the one that made the gentle faun be more worried than surprised.

Indeed, there was no policy set in place when jewels  _appeared_ within the room, only for when they were gone; so in truth, other than the gentle handling of the silver crown of Ivy leaves and ruby roses from the middle of the room, the little frown in between furry brows refused to go anywhere. What should he do? He wondered, his eyes lifting to look at the only window that illuminated the room; a window so small that only mice might be able to step inside, and not a single jewel without it being broken or scarred somehow; something which the new gentle crown was not. The most peculiar thing of all, within the strange appearance of this new crown, was that the little light that slipped from said window strangely illuminated directly toward the platform where King Edmund's crown of silver rested instead of the High King's, where the sunlight usually fell upon that time of day; the place, exactly, where a brand new cushion of silver details and golden contrasts rested just beside where the Just King's crown refused to gather dust thanks to the royal faun. All the other platforms, the ones where the pretty crowns of the High King and the Queens rested, remained solitary upon their centre, untouched yet glistening with the shadows brought forth by the counted torches all around; indeed, all alone upon their platforms but King Edmund's, where that brand new silver cushion to match his rested.

Only once within Sir Gadef's held position of master of treasury had something appeared within the room; but it hadn't been a crown, nor a necklace, or a bracelet, no, they had been seven silver and gold blades, sharp as if they had been made by the castle's smithy, engraved by a dialect spoken centuries prior when the faun had been only a child of five, speaking of broken flames, strong warriors, and some other things that had not entirely made sense; at least, with those swords the faun had known what to do, because swords were not his domain, and the only option had been to take them to the High King and explain the strange way in which they had appeared. But now, with the single crown of silver and ruby that rested in his hands, he knew not what to do; where before there had only been four cushions and their crowns, now there were five, one of them empty with the brand new crown waiting in his hands.

The light alone, which did not even once waver from the brilliance of the Just King's platform, was strange, but still, even as strange as it remained, the intents were clear: where else could the new crown go but the empty cushion beside the Just King's? How, and why, Sir Gadef wondered as his hooves echoed against the stone of the ground, one step behind the other, taking him closer to the western platform and the place where the brilliant silver cushion waited; his lips parted, his ears flipping behind him, as if he were scared, as if he expected any sound to come from behind, and finally, his hands moved to place the new crown upon the cushion where it fit as perfectly as if the place had been perfectly and solely made for it. As it was, the moment the crown even finally rested on the empty one of the twin cushions, the intricacy of their fabric changed right before the faun's eyes, twisting and lifting as if invisible hands knit a brand new pattern upon them; nothing but the creation of two golden roses at the centre of each, united by their stems, which knotted together at the edges of the cushion, and made the two once independent cushions into one. Oh, Sir Gadef had never seen something so magical and so unique, and the smile upon his lips brought as much happiness as concern for the mere appearance of a brand new headpiece; not only for the magic of their resting place, but for the light, which, as soon as the roses had been formed intricately upon their fabric, finally faded to the sort he expected from a morning as cloudy as that, barely even illuminating the room and the High King's place the way it tended to do every day, making it clearer than anything he could say: it had been magic. That crown had appeared within the room by no more than Aslan's will, he was sure of it, and the reason behind it couldn't be clearer still: there was to be a new Queen, and whoever it was, she was going to be sharing King Edmund's heart.

The suddenly joyous faun could do no more than turn around and run away from the room (not before closing the door with key, of course) so he could tell the news to the High King, who could surely be only waking up that morning.

The morning of Edmund Pevensie's eighteenth birthday.

♦

At the Western side of the castle, Juliet Capulet woke softly by the echoes of dripping water somewhere near, which made her eyes press together in their tiredness before a deep breath served as pace for the speed with which her body shifted on the bed; the bed she woke in was one as familiar to her as her own, one where the canopy was green and the sheets silver, one where the light of the sun dared not hit but nearing twilight, one where the Just King so easily seemed to be washing his face at a bowl set at a desk closest to the bed, only half dressed. "Morning." He said in her direction with a tiny lift of his lips after he had dried his face with a pretty white towel, drying his hands then.

As she stretched, finally without a single limb aching from the wounds of the previous month (though red scarred still given their depth), the kind protector finally smiled. "Happy birthday," she told him in responce, pulling the sheets of his bed higher toward her so they could cover the bareness of her chest as she rested on his pillow, as close to him as she could be given the proximity of his desk.

Still, the King's eyes rolled shortly in complicity of the smile upon his lips; all she had to do was stretch a hand to encourage him to walk toward her and his steps were taking him the pair of steps needed to reach and hold her hand. "Is it weird that I'm not looking forward to tonight's ball at all?" He asked, climbing the single step to reach the bed and sit inches beside Juliet, who simply refused to let him stay like that and pulled his hand until he gave in and had no other choice than to lie softly half atop her; of course, shortly after, their lips met in a gentle kiss that, though it had not exactly meant to, turned even passionate enough for the towel to become forgotten and thus tossed away.

By the time the two disentangled from each other again, the sun had finally fully come out to make the day old enough for the sounds of the guard's preparation of training and protection to reach their ears from the open window; it was only then, when the two lay fast-breathing on his bed and her head rested on his naked chest, that the question Juliet had meant to ask before her kisses accidentally ignited them both, was able to leave her lips: "What be so bad about tonight's ball that thou wisheth not for it?" She simply turned, moving so her right arm could rest against his chest and her chin could rest upon the back of her palm. "It's thy birthday; I wouldst have expected thy excitement to be contagious." To that, at least, Juliet couldn't help but smile.

Once again, the young King's eyes rolled and his lips lifted with the short amusement of the other's words. "Har, har," he said, a hand lifting to push some sweaty strands of hair back from his forehead. "This is excitement enough for me, thanks." He told her, as his other arm finally wrapped around her so his hand rested on her bare back; and he was of course not surprised to hear her laugh; after all, she hadn't exactly woken up with the intention of 'attacking' him the way she had, so the moment had come as much as a surprise for him as it did for her; a pleasant surprise, at least. "I am simply not looking forward to being eighteen," Edmund admitted, looking up at the canopy whilst the echo of the guard reached his room. "For starters, it's officially a whole other stage of life, older than you'll ever be," Juliet's lips pressed within the amusement she held for the hopes of not interrupting what seemed to be true concerns of the Just King. "And in the other hand, I also don't want any of those... coming of age things that have happened with Susan and Peter." He paused. "Not to mention, now that I'm eighteen, I'm almost sure the nobles will begin pressuring me to marry as much as they have done to the others." His head shook, his eyes closing for the worry of his face even as he held onto Juliet slightly tighter, whose smile had only faded for the single memory of their now extremely borrowed time; even her eyes fell and the press of her lips ceased being with hopes of holding back her amusement, and instead holding back her sorrow.

Because she wouldn't get on the way, she knew that much; as it was, ever since she had died and had seen the sort of effect she had on Edmund Pevensie, she had decided to say and speak no more of the fact that eventually they would have to part, because regardless of her love for him (unspoken as it was, but acknowledged by both nonetheless), she both knew and felt that the single fate of the gentle romance they had shared was none but one of heartbreak for the very reason she had fooled herself into thinking was no longer true: the heart was only meant for one requited love, not two, thus what else could someone such as she hope for but the mere memory moments like the one she shared with the King that morning were going to become? Indeed, when the time came that he did have to marry, she would grieve for as long as she had to, but she would remain quiet, she would serve Queen Lucy the way she had for years, and she would thereafter harden her heart to any other love, because what good was life if the love she so wished could not be returned the way it was that morning? Yes, she would rather not taint the magic of the moment they had shared, nor the years they had spent together, by the single reminder of what was going to be.

Instead, Juliet simply gulped down the knot of her own expectancy and forced the lift of a smile to return to her lips; if anything, for the memory of the one thing he had said that had seemed ridiculous to her, enough to have that be the thing she decided to bring back instead of the subject he had admitted to be as horrified of as she: "Ed," she began, her tone and disposition much more relaxed than she truly felt; for once, she refused to be the open book she always had been, even if it was only for the sake of the man she loved. "Thy age is eighteen only, after today." And that note of her voice truly only made the King's eyes not only open, but fall on her at last; whether no longer beating himself up for bringing up the subject of his marriage, or for the surprise of Juliet's own reaction, she didn't know. "I was born centuries ago, both here and on Earth, thus, my heart, no age thou ebraceth hereafter could be any older than I, I promise."

She was very glad to hear his laugh, even if it was only within a note shortly higher than a whisper. "Yeah, you  _are_ old." He told her, but under those notes he only held her closer, almost as if he were scared she'd disappear if he let go; and in turn, so did she; because she might have given in to the idea that the King would marry someone else, but that did not mean she didn't wish she had endless amounts of time before such a thing happened. "It's actually kind of gross if you think about it," he continued, only keeping the thought of that time becoming thinner and thinner with the pressure of the nobles from her head with the gentle jest of his words.

But her heart was beating wildly against his stomach.

They both knew the truth of what the other felt; and not one of them dared say a word about it. "It is, isn't it?" She said instead, continuing the game regardless, scrunching her nose and even going so far as to raising upon the bed until she was kneeling beside him, one hand on his stomach as she held the one that had fallen from her back with the other one. "Compared to me thou art nay'r but a babe in a crib." She perfectly feigned the horror she attempted, because under it was the true horror they simply refused to speak of. "What have I done?"

Indeed, though they both feared the same, the continuance of their jest made their hearts relax enough so the King's eyes rolled at her own words and could truly say no more than the simplicity of "Shut up." Before he simply pulled her toward him again and his lips crashed on hers in a much more desperate means than before, because that kiss truly did speak of everything they did not; their fear, their hope, their love.

If only they could have stayed like that for the rest of time.

But of course, they could not; eventually, the two had to part for each other's duties of the day, from preparing the hall for the guests, to the preparation of all meals, to talking to the guard so the same sort of protection given in Lucy's sixteenth birthday ball the previous month could come to be, with at least one guard on all entrances to the castle, all windows locked, all royals, nobles and castle workers armed just in case; until the only worries in everyone's minds were the state of their own clothes as the day grew older and older and the first guests began arriving with welcoming fanfares to the Great Hall. Everyone got ready, everyone smiled and congratulated the young king as they passed him on the halls, and perhaps it all would have been joyful and welcome, if the stern faces of Peter and Susan hadn't met him only moments before he reached the secure room behind the Great Hall, where the two who faced him had had to wait to be presented at their own coming of age celebrations; Peter and Susan were not smiling, not really, their lips were, but the rest of them seemed sombre, even guilty, and the Just King wished for nothing more than to flee the second those expressions became clear to him.

Unfortunately, by the time that happened, he had been entirely too close to his siblings that all they had to do was reach in his direction, hold one of his arms each, and encourage him toward the room regardless of how he couldn't escape even if he truly wanted to. "What's going on?" He asked, trying to pull his arms away from their touch yet being entirely unable to for the strength with which they held him; if he were delicate of skin, he might even have some bruises to look forward to appearing there later on the day. Thankfully, he was not.

"We're very sorry for this," Susan began, nodding her head to the guard at the door, who easily opened the big wooden door with much more ease than the last time they had locked themselves within that room.

This time, the door hadn't been locked. "We know it will seem unfair, but things have changed," Peter told him, while the door pushed open and the protecting room was revealed to be much fuller than it should have been by the time his siblings only softly dragged him into the room and the reality of what happened truly befell his mind with growing suspicion and worry.

The room was well lit and definitely brighter than it had been the last time they had been there, inside, where only his siblings should have been there to wait with him, rested not only Lucy with Juliet Capulet standing by her side—looking so gloom and sorrowful refusing to look in his direction that the stakes seemed to rise higher inside his mind for the obvious reality of what his siblings expected of him—, but Lord Peridan, Athena Ashdown, a few other nobles privy to council, and, only across from all of them, five young women who bowed lowly the moment he slipped into the room.  _Oh no._  He thought, because when they all rose the smiles upon their faces were soft, inviting, even dalliant enough for him to feel his heart drop down to the bottom of his stomach; had he not just that morning been kissing Juliet Capulet and telling her he was afraid of exactly a moment like that, a moment when his siblings and the nobles of the council would force him, try as he might, to pick a bride. After all, Peter had not, Susan had not, and all he could wonder was the true reason for which he had to choose so suddenly and without a warning; had the nobles made it impossible for them to wait? And why him, why not Peter, who so obviously would end up with Athena Ashdown? Why not force  _them_ to get married already? Why him? Oh, dear Aslan, why him, who was so lost in love with the sorrowful girl at his younger sister's side that he was sure no one else would be able to even compare? "Susan, no," Edmund attempted as she pushed him to stand just beside her, "I can't;" indeed, she looked as apologetic as much as stern when she quieted him and simply held his arm, almost at the same time that Peter began to speak.

"We have gathered here, before the beginning of the expected ball, because something has happened in the middle of the night that has changed everything we expected of this day," Not too far from him, Lucy Pevensie reached to her side to hold Juliet's hand, soothing her as much as she possibly could for the very news that had reached her as suddenly as they had Edmund himself; she had been there, smiling, getting ready for the ball with pins on her hair, and the long silk of her dress flowing around her, when Queen Lucy had slipped into her room with a face as full of gloom as it had been of worry and told her everything that had happened the previous night and what it meant for the ball. Of course, the very thing she had been reminded of that morning by Edmund's side had been the only thing she had even allowed to leave her lips: her unwillingness to step in the way of what he should do, her need for him to do what he had to as King of a realm; but that did not mean that her heart wasn't breaking into a tiny million pieces as she stood by Lucy's side, looking anywhere but the faces of the five women the royals had deemed worthy or proper for one of them to play Edmund's wife. If only they had had more time; if only she had known that that morning was to be the last one she could spend loving Edmund Pevensie, if only, if only.

If only she didn't have to stand and watch the young king make his choice. "Alike the seven swords of Narnia, a brand new appearance has been made within the treasury last night," he paused; whether for dramatic purposes or because part of him truly didn't want to put his brother through an arranged marriage when he had gotten Peter out of one for the sake of his own heart, he couldn't be entirely sure. "A crown." The nobles that had not been informed of the fact murmured their surprise behind him, but for the sake of the girls in front of them, Peter ignored them and continued. "It is of no surprise to anyone that Susan and I have both played with the idea of marriage, and while neither of our prospects worked out, never before had a crown matching any of ours appeared within the treasury until today.

The crown, Sir Gadef informed me, could only be placed by the side of King Edmund's, and it is for it that we all stand here," he turned to look at Edmund, who looked so absolutely miserable and willing to run from the room that all the High King could do was show the apology within his eyes regardless of how he had to continue for the good of what he thought the appearance of the silver and ruby crown meant: "Before the beginning of his ball, so he may choose the person he should marry, so the will of Aslan may be done, and the first engagement of Narnia may be announced the way it has not been done before; as it has been meant to: on this coming of age ball."

Edmund didn't even know what to say; he wanted to refuse, he wanted to storm out of the room and forget about the ball entirely; but above all, he wanted, more than anything, to go back to that morning, when the idea of marriage had been nothing but a thing of the far future, when he had held Juliet in his arms, when he had no reason to think he wouldn't hold her again or... "Edmund?" Susan called, her hand, which he hadn't even realised had fallen away from him, lifted to rest on his arm again, only this time it was comforting, calling of his attention for the sake of the situation instead of stern and commanding. "The women before you are the five princesses and duchesses of the cities near us, all of which will bring alliance to Narnia upon your marriage; all you have to do is choose."

Choose? Simply look each of the five on the face and choose? As if the girls before him were brand new paintings or a new set of armour? As if he were choosing a brand new ornament to hang on his walls instead of the woman who was to be his companion for the rest of his life? "This is wrong," He heard himself saying, because though his will to marry was non-existent for his love of Juliet, even without that halting truth he knew he at least wished to know his future wife a little; yes, he had known that one day the magic would be gone from his secret dalliance with Juliet Capulet (regardless of how he had wished it to not be secret anymore), and the only thing left would be the memory of what had been; but, by Aslan, choosing so plainly like that? "I can't do this."

What if he didn't want it to be just a memory; not yet?

"Edmund, you must." Susan told him regardless of the ease with which he moved away from her; no, he would not have her comfort, nor her words of logic. "The crown appeared—"

"Did it come with the list of options, too?" Edmund wondered immediately, his frown deep, and his mind heavy with the rudeness he presented before the princesses and duchesses waiting for his word; he had not been so rude to anyone since... well, he couldn't even remember. Hell, even Susan had attempted to whisper, but the young King simply could not hold himself back; and why should he, when his whole hope was shattering and rebuilding easily within his heart by the near security hidden within his heart: would Aslan really be so cruel as to have him choose when he  _had_ to know... "Did Aslan himself stand before you and tell you these five girls,"—he even motioned to them with a quick hand—"were my only option?"

Where only apology had been in Peter's blue eyes, now the only emotion visible was the short anger that even made his hand rest on the lion head of his long sword. "He didn't have to, Edmund." He simply told him. "You know very well that's not how it works, but you  _do_ have to choose. Today, before you are presented." He insisted, "Because you  _will_ have to announce your engagement tonight."

"Because Aslan said so with the appearance of a crown matching mine," The young King tried, feeling guilty enough within his own consciousness for the doubt-filled tone that ran within his words alongside the hit of wit that so easily led him to the only thing he truly wanted to do. The only thing that made sense, as he stood almost even facing his siblings and the nobles, the only goddamn thing that could make all terrors of loss go away; "Right? That's your logic?"

"Ed," Susan prevented.

But Edmund's shaking head was enough to stop her from any other word she might have wanted to voice, "No, honestly, answer me: this crown appearing is the reason you think I should choose, right?"

"Yes; so choose." Peter responded; his own anger displayed deeper in his eyes than on his posture.

"Just like that?" Edmund wondered while the frown in the middle of his forehead refused to give anything else away; even Juliet didn't know what he attempted, why he taunted or even avoided the choice any longer. "Just choose?"

Peter took a single step. "Just like that. Now."

"But Aslan didn't tell you  _who_  I should choose, right?"

Peter had had enough; "Choose, Edmund! Or  _I will_  choose for you, and you won't—"

"FINE!" Edmund interrupted loudly enough for Peter to stop talking, and some of the girls and nobles flinched with the strength of his voice; for the first time during that little meeting, the tone of it finally made Juliet's amber eyes lift with the curiosity and lack of understanding that his words brought forth; what made the least sense of all, was that Edmund's lips were lifted in the smallest of smiles to accompany his near-defiant frown by the time he spoke again: "You tell me to choose, like Aslan has instructed with this new crown's appearance; with no limitation to whom it may be spoken or instructed by him, so I  _will_  choose." He paused, his heart beating almost as wildly as it had been that morning, a knot in the middle of his throat being gulped down for the sake of his own security, until finally, his eyes moved to rest upon the soft familiarity of Juliet's before the one single sentence of his turned her world upside down: "I choose Juliet Capulet."

The entire room broke into sound; from the women behind him gasping and murmuring with one another, to the nobles in front of him joining the murmurs alike, even to the short laugh of Athena Ashdown, or the silencing echoes of her brother, who nudged her softly and scolded her for the seriousness of the situation, reached Edmund's ears. But the one who most mattered to him was the one who, in the end, made absolutely no sound at all: Juliet. On one side, her silence only encouraged him to take a step toward her so he could even think of pleading his case; but on the other, her silence, and the wide-eyed expression that looked back at him only reminded him of the one time Peter had proposed to her as well, the time when she had kneeled, begged the High King's forgiveness, and declined. Almost all of his emotions worked in overdrive, from fear of her refusal, to joy that he had even thought of asking her at all, to hope that perhaps she could say yes to him and make of Alsan as kind a creature as he knew him to be, as he began making his way toward her; but before he truly could take more than the one step, the echoes of Peter's voice reached him as quickly as the room returned to silence: "Juliet is not an option, Ed."

That alone was enough to make Edmund stop on his tracks to look in Peter's direction again, the frown in the middle of his forehead only deepening; "Yeah? Well, maybe she should be." Even Lucy's hand tightened on Juliet's, but the Italian simply wouldn't move or speak. "I don't see why within all my options you would choose only women I don't know..." He softly complained, but even the little smile upon his lips refused to disappear, "...but would fail to include the one I love."

The murmuring within the room returned, both from shocked expressions to those of elation like Lucy's, who kept looking from him to Juliet and back with the sort of excitement he had only ever seen apply to Peter and Athena; and perhaps he would have been able to note more if Susan hadn't spoken again: "Edmund, this is serious." She said, her hands falling to her sides as the worry of her eyes met his, "it is no time for jokes, or any of your—"

"I am not joking, sister." The young king interrupted; even his smile had disappeared for the sake of his own sincerity as another step took him closer to Juliet, who remained quiet and almost even unmoving. "For once, I couldn't be more serious even if I tried: I  _love_  Juliet Capulet, and I have for a long time."

"He's been keeping it secret all this time." Lucy told them, making the nobles and the others look at her with the curiosity and shock of their own hearts. "They both have been," she continued," I only just found out because Edmund doesn't know how to walk quietly when he goes into her room, but—"

"Without any more _private_  details," Edmund said with a short glare in Lucy's direction, mindless of the short speck of red that lit his cheeks, intending to speak more than that.

But no sooner could he continue to speak before the shock of Athena Ashdown's voice reached him entirely now fully by Peter's side: "You've  _slept_  with her?!" Even Lord Peridan tried to stop her, if anyone could judge by the way his hand covered his lips as he looked from Peter to Edmund and back again; and at least to that outburst Juliet finally reacted silently enough with a soft blush upon her cheeks as her eyes fell to look at the ground once again.

Not that Edmund could be privy to watching her reaction with the sort of glare he'd been sending in Athena's direction; "I don't see how  _that_ is any of your business," he told her, only for what he knew and what he wished to convey before he turned to look at Peter and Susan again, trying so hard to ignore Athena's almost silent laugh whilst he did. "The point is: I love her, alright?" He'd never even said it out loud before, not to her, or himself, or truly anyone else, but there he was, second or third time, and for all he cared he could yell it from the top of the highest tower of Cair Paravel. "Trust me, I was shocked when I found out too; I even thought I was ill for a good year or so because I felt this weird thing in my stomach whenever I saw her, and then my heart would just honestly feel like it was stopping or burning when she smiled or spoke, and I just... I honestly thought I was dying;" somewhere near Peter, Athena was holding back her laugh. "But my point is that this is not out of nowhere; it's not sudden, or out of spite; nor am I doing this with any malicious intent, I promise, I just love her, plain and simple, I do, I love Juliet Capulet, and that's why if you make me choose someone today for Aslan's sake, it  _will_  be her, because I don't  _want_  anyone else, and I am willing to swear that I never will."

Still, Juliet had not spoken; in fact, she had barely moved from the moment her name had even been mentioned. And though her heart twisted within her chest strongly enough that she couldn't even return the hold of her Queen's hand, and the single echo of joy within her made her wonder if any of what she had heard had been imagined or made up, created by a broken heart intending for her to break no more, the silence remained; so much that even Peter, who looked at her for a moment, could not even read her expression for the first time since they had known each other; after all, the girls he had led into the room had been those who had already agreed to become potential queen, but Juliet... well, the last time the subject of marriage had been lifted toward her, she had declined and said that she would never marry. At least, if he remembered well, not for anything that was not love; so what could he do? It didn't really take much time for him to decide that keeping the princesses and duchesses around was unnecessary for the will of Edmund's stubbornness. "Ladies," he called toward them, and all those who had been murmuring between themselves quieted almost immediately and even stood like a bunch of delicate soldiers looking at him. "Lord Rochford will lead you back to the ball," he motioned with a hand towards the door, not surprised at all when the Lord in question stepped away from the small group behind him, and the girls all lowered into a gentle bow of either respect or loyalty. "I do hope you enjoy it, and I deeply apologise for all of this."

Of course, while Peter was absolutely busy trying to get the girls not to either say something to anyone else in the waiting hall where music had begun playing or be angry they had been called for nothing (or something so rude as what his young brother had done), all Edmund could do was take advantage of the short moment to finally take the few steps he had wished to take toward Juliet so he could even try to claim her hands from Lucy's for the sake of his own sanity. "I'm sorry," he told the immortal whose eyes finally lifted to look at him and whose lips refused to move away from the pressed position they had taken. "I'm so sorry for just—I didn't even properly ask you, and then everyone's here, and I just—I'm sorry that—"

"Edmund," she began; or at least attempted to, because though Lucy was near, and everyone else could probably imagine what the two were whispering about, Edmund simply refused to let her speak.

"No, please, just—I know what you're going to say, and now that I'm in this situation, and Aslan himself has... I just... I will repeat what I told you all that time ago: I don't care about kids. I just... I love you, okay? That—it's all that matters, I don't need anything else, or  _want_  anything else, I'm perfect content like this because you're more than enough, and that's what I couldn't tell you before, when you were—"

"How do we really know this is not just a joke?" Peter interrupted the boy pleading to the immortal as he turned back to walk to his place by Susan's side the moment the door of the room shut again; of course he hadn't even noticed Edmund's proximity to Juliet, or the way he pled to her or even held her hands until he turned around. "That you won't just take it back later and, or hurt Juliet because of it?"

No one was surprised to hear Edmund's scoffed breath as he let go of only one of the immortal's hands so he could face his brother once he stopped beside Susan. "Peter, you knew of this." Edmund reminded him, fully aware of the way both of Juliet's hands wrapped on the one he had kept on hers. "You saw us once; a long time ago, you even scolded me for being distracted and everything when it happened, this can't possibly be a complete surprise to you."

To _his_  surprise, Peter actually nodded his head. "It is, actually." His admission did not at all work against the frown that had taken over his forehead the moment Edmund had even claimed his affections for Lucy's Protector to be genuine. "I never caught you again, you never spoke of it, Juliet never said anything, and, if anything, you've both been barely civil with one another, so I just assumed whatever it had been I'd caught you in had ended."

"I was fooled to think that too, Pete," Lucy quickly intervened, stepping away from her protector for the single joy that lit her features as she tried to speak, "I thought... well, I was  _sure_  that they at least didn't hate each other; that they tolerated each other, but I never imagined anything else until after I first heard the steps near my room or even  _saw_ Ed sneaking away down the steps from  _my_ floor; Juliet's floor..." Her eyes looked to Edmund, who looked at her with the sort of shocked and thankful gaze that only truly encouraged her to confess the rest by the time she looked at her oldest brother again: "Think about it, Peter." She encouraged him. "How many times have they both been away at the same time? How many times has Edmund smiled like an idiot at her when she's around, or been overly kind and affectionate? Or why go so far as that, do you not remember, only last month, the look in his eyes when Juliet died? I'd never seen him so distraught than then. And I  _heard_ them, Peter; I haven't even told  _him_ that, but I  _heard_ them together, talking, and kissing, and possibly even—"

"I think he gets it, Lu." Edmund stopped her again, his eyes wide this time, and that fresh blush that had lit his cheeks before returning at almost the same time as Athena's own little muffled laugh did; he at least tried glaring at the General to silence her.

Lucy's silent apology remained even when she began speaking again. "Right, what I mean to say is..." She looked at Peter again. "This isn't something new; and if Edmund claims that it's love..." she even lifted a small shrug before her arms crossed under her chest. "I believe him."

"So do I," Athena quickly said, even if the smile remained upon her lips by the time the Kings, Queens and the other nobles, looked at her too. "I mean, I knew of it, too, and it  _has_ been going on for a long time." She could even remember not having even  _met_ Juliet properly by the time Edmund had been speaking of her even if not by name. "I've known it for years; at least two."

"Years?!" Susan echoed, clearly shocked by the single notion of Edmund Pevensie having a romantic life hidden from everyone; it was only weird and strangely acceptable because she couldn't imagine him doing things any differently. Keeping something so big secret was something only Edmund would think of doing, "Peter, I think..." Her hands clasped against her stomach, even if only for the short shock of what she was going to say, "It does seem sudden to us, but... I believe him too."

To everyone's surprise, the High King's stern expression only shortly relaxed by the single release of a breath, which had him standing straight with the mirror of Lucy's own stance: his arms crossed on his chest, and his eyes falling from Edmund to Susan. "So we all believe him," he said, his voice unwavering regardless of his siblings' own relief, and his attention only then changing to the person he thereafter wished to address. "But this is  _not_ just about him. Juliet?" He wondered, looking at her and making soft amber eyes lift to look at him for the first time since the whole meeting had begun. "What do you say to all this?"

By the time all eyes fell on her, she had definitely had a  _lot_ of time to think; from the security of Edmund's words, to the confessions he even had been unable to make to her (or she to him, really), she had been able to think; indeed, she was going to tell the young King to think about what he was doing, because a marriage to her could never be true for all lack of children, and the worst thing in her imagination was that one day, when he wished to raise a child, he ended up hating her for her mere inability to bear any. But love... well, she more than anyone within that room knew the magic of love to be powerful enough for a pair to be happy even without a home, or wealth, or even the permission of their families; so why should the lack of children be different? Oh, what did she say? What  _could_ she say when the only words to break the silence were the soft pleading whispers of her beloved Edmund saying "Please, marry me." Two words she had never in her existence thought she would hear again, nor deserve, nor have written in her fate.

Juliet Capulet  _had_ loved; she  _had_ married, and that person had been her soul mate, he had been the one she had been absolutely sure she could spend the rest of her days with, and before even the dream came true, that same soul mate buried the sharpness of a dagger into her heart. She had loved, she had married, and she had died; death had done them part; yet now there she rested, holding the hands of the one man she had loved more strongly than any other, looking into brown eyes that never once had shown her anything but the strength of his own affections or the mirror of the love she gifted him. Did she dare? After living centuries upon centuries thinking that a heart had only one true soul mate, only one love? "I..." she gulped, her heart beating so wildly that even the hands holding of his trembled softly within his touch. "I once did say that I would nay'r marry for a thing other than love," Her eyes refused to look away from Edmund's regardless of the speech so clearly meant for all of them to hear, "Thus as I stand here I speak the same, and for it, I hath no other word than this: yes. Simply yes, for I love King Edmund with the entirety of my heart and soul, and if he doth accept me as I am, then nay'r should I refuse, and simply agree to spend the rest of my life with him."

Though the excitement from Queen Lucy so close became loud enough to set the matter as it was, the boy who had so easily expected a decline alike she had done to Peter could speak nothing at all; instead his eyes danced on hers in search of any jest, or any catch, or any one thing that could not be true, but there it was, and there it had been said, "Really?" He wondered, a single step making almost all space between them disappear when the tips of his shoes faded under the folds of her dress. "You mean it, you'll marry me?" Because not only had she agreed to that, but she had also thereafter confessed that she  _loved_ him.

It was a notion neither of them had spoken out loud, one which they only thought but had never confirmed to the other at all; yet there they were, with the truth spoken from their lips, and the single bob of Juliet's head, regardless of the small droplets that threatened to fall down her cheeks, confirming everything all over again. "Aye, I mean it, every word," She told him as a single hand moved away from his so the softness of her palm could rest upon his cheek, the way it had done endless times while they were alone, the way she never thought she would do with Lucy, Susan, Peter or any of the nobles watching them. "If thou be sure, if thy words are true and my love for thee is enough to thy heart, then I will marry thee without a doubt, and thereafter be the happiest girl in the land."

The King's smile simply couldn't disappear, "Oh, I'm sure." He told her, almost entirely forgetting that they weren't alone. "I've never been surer of anything else." And with that, the distance between them truly did disappear, and their lips met in a joyful kiss that even Susan had to join in applauding alongside the nobles, Lucy, and Athena by Peter's side.

Peter, on the other hand, did not applaud, but only looked at his brother and good friend with the curiosity of his own understanding: had Aslan meant for that to happen? Did the crown appear within the treasury because He knew Edmund and Juliet were meant to be together? Did he intend for them to marry already? What else what he supposed to think? "Come on, Peter." Susan told him by the time Edmund and Juliet had parted and, instead of a kiss, he lifted Juliet from the ground in an embrace that had Lucy clapping as enthusiastically as their kiss had whilst he spoke of the truth that they had to hide no more; all Peter could do was look at Susan with the short frown still across his forehead. "Is this not better than an arranged marriage?" She asked. "They love each other. Who are we to get in the way of that?"

Just like Peter had promised it, Edmund and Juliet's engagement became the very first to be announced at a Coming of Age ball, and for Edmund's clear statement of love, even within his speech, it became the first engagement for which every single person in the Great Hall cheered; indeed, even including those five girls who had been at first offered to him unfairly.

Within the treasury, the little flowers of golden thread that had formed the moment the royal faun had placed the new crown upon the silver cushion, shifted unwitnessed into a the shade of a deep crimson red.


	39. Chapter 39

─ ♚ ─

The mind of the young man was an amazing thing for the power it held of keeping close watch on the edge of Narnia's borders whilst also thinking wholly of something else; and what that something was, was his adopted sister, Athena Ashdown, for the day it was, more than anything else: the anniversary of the day the two had met. Oh, he thought of her as she had been the day he had found her in the middle of the woods, silent, shaken, clearly shattered by whatever it had been she had left behind, her green eyes haunted, her whole demeanour careful and aware, and her clothes as strange as the ones many a person had described the Kings and Queens had worn when they had slipped into their greatly beloved world; the hooves of his horse crushed dry leaves fallen on the middle of the autumn, his eyes observed the line of trees at the other side of the river, singer of a peaceful song that marked Narnia's vast territory with Archenland's own, and still, he thought of her. He thought of the sun as it slipped into the little patch of grass where he had found her, the fallen leaves under her arms and body crushed much like the ones his horse walked on; he thought of the tears upon her cheeks and the way she had wiped them away the very second he even dared speak, "I apologise, Miss, but" he had said, holding the reins of the very same horse held at that moment, and trying to keep it steady as he looked down at the girl on the floor. "Are you lost?"

Sniffling, she had looked at him, eyes wide, limbs moving quickly so she could stand from the floor, her hands dusting off the strange folds of her clothes as her head moved from side to side in denial of what he had asked. "I am not." She had told him, but truly, the way her eyes looked about her and even the streaks of tears that she had cleaned away had made his eyes narrow against the small smile that had lifted his lips. "Yet everything around me seems to be."

That little remark alone should have told him exactly the sort of girl he looked upon, so young and so unwilling to ask for help regardless of how very evidently she needed it; of course, he hadn't thought that much of it at the time, and instead simply had done to dismount his horse so he could be more level with her than if he remained mounted. "I'm afraid that usually  _does_ mean you're lost." He had admitted, even forced the smile to disappear from his lips for the young worry he had felt at seeing someone in her state so far from any towns or cities. "If you wish," he had approached her, keeping his hands on the reins of his horse and leading him by foot so he could stand closer to the girl who now seemed much taller than she had when he'd been on the horse; she almost even reached his shoulder. "I could take you to Chippingford Town to get your direction back. I promise it's only a short ride away."

He didn't think he had seen her any more lost or broken than she had seemed that day since then, but at least upon that moment it hadn't seemed so evident only because they had only met; and the little frown that had wrinkled her forehead at the mention of the town only made her look much younger than she actually had been. "Is that in England?" She had wondered, thus bringing the first sense of confusion to the young Lord at the time; and what had been even more surprising still had been the way her features had shifted seconds after, when her eyes fell to the place his sword rested by his hip; with her eyes wide, one last sniffle to scare away all sense of sorrow, and the echo of much stronger words, she said: "Is that a  _sword!?"_

Of course, he hadn't understood her shock at first, for swords were as common to him as the clothes on his back; and tough the reason of her arrival in Narnia was one that was as much sorrowful as one that ended up haunting her for longer than she probably would admit out loud, still, the memory of such a day managed to do nothing more than make Peridan smile even as the darkness of the night contrasted against it, for the sound of the crushed leaves or the whinny his horse attempted (which he had done that day as well) kept that memory clear within his brain; still, as easily as that, from the image of the broken girl she had seemed when they had met, he thought of her as she was now, the powerful strategic General of the Narnian Militia, friends with the monarchs, friends with the future Just Queen, a force to be reckoned with, and above all, much less haunted that she had seemed that day. It was his pride of the daughter of Eve he had adopted as a sibling that lifted his lips as his hands pulled the reins of his horse to turn about and make the same patrolling line the way he had gone; the pride of all that she had learnt, of all the things that she had left behind which he thought no longer weakened her, of her own strength as a General, which was one to par with the one who had been before her, the pride that, against all odds, she had found love with the High King, and because of it even joy lit her eyes the way sorrow had lit them before. He was so proud upon that moment, the emotion running through his veins so fully that one of his hands had to shake for a moment before retaking the rains, that he wished he could tell her immediately so he could share the very emotion that drove him, he wished he was not half a day away from Cair Paravel keeping an eye out for any activity at the Narnian-Archen borders, he wished he were not alone and had someone to perhaps even send with a message just for her; those very thoughts made him consider the possibility of leaving his post and kept the smile upon his lips even by the time his own honour refused him the continuance of such a thought, leaving him no other choice than to wait the few hours he had to be relieved of his post, keeping watch along the river, and—almost immediately whip his head to the right the moment he saw a shadow moving at the edge of his vision.

First it was nothing but a strange blob that moved from the depths of the Archen forest in the direction of the river, the leaves of the trees covering all details from him by the shadows they created against the moonlit night, and where once there was no sound but those of hooting owls or dancing leaves along the soft breeze of autumn, or even the crushed leaves under his horse's hooves, now there joined a second pair of hooves-crushing-leaves that let him know the moving blob was a horse much before his eyes could confirm it; all memory of a smile had dissipated from his lips, and instead there rested a frown in the middle of his forehead as his hands quickly pulled against the reins so his horse could turn alike, facing the river instead of moving parallel to it like he had been doing for the past few hours. It had been only a couple of weeks since they had decided that the silence after the attempted assassinations against the monarchs were simply unbearable and the guard had taken to keeping watch of all the borders around Narnia—he watched Archenland and the depths of Calormen to the south that night, whilst Lord Meriardre, the centaur, watched the Ettinsmoor borders nearing the Owl Wood and the river where Athena had been found to the north, all whilst Lord Rochford and Lady Leardine, a pair of cheerful fauns, watched the Bight of Calormen waters to the east, and the borders of Lantern Waste to the west, for the sake of their continued lack of evidence or security over who it had been that had sent the assassins that had ended the life of the future Queen before she had even been the future Queen (praised be Aslan that she was immortal), and had hurt a few of his guard—yet never once had any news or disturbances been reported by any of them when each of them had to be relieved by one of the three others charged to their same post; in fact, it had all been so quiet and peaceful that even Lord Peridan himself had been considering counselling King Peter to keep the guard close to the castle instead of spread about throughout the borders.

But there he was, watching the little dark figure grow bigger and bigger until it reached the edge of the river and the moon finally lit it, making distant but clear details able to be seen: indeed, just as he had thought it to be, it was a horse, a dark stallion that looked almost like a void set in the middle of the forest for the hollow of the night, and on it he could distinguish two figures, one taller than the other (which only made him assume the second was either a dwarf or a child), and with a long wave of hair untied that danced with the breeze and the velocity of its owner's speed alongside the equally black cloak that only became evident to his eyes the moment the horse even began to cross the river, revealing the scarlet dress hidden under it, or the blue of the smaller figure's clothes to contrast the softer hue upon the river. Peridan's heart beat wildly within his chest, and all sense of joy or pride upon his mind was nothing but a memory against the wild determination upon his eyes for the duty that made a hand reach for the hilt of his sword, unsheathing it without a problem seconds before the heels of his boots softly dug into the sides of his horse so the deep brown horse could make in the direction of the incoming pair. "HALT!" He called against the echo of the water splashing with the couple's movements and the horse that fought against its depth by the moment they reached the other side of the river.

It had become clear even moments before he had begun making his horse trot swiftly towards the river, that the pair were made up of a woman and either a dwarf or a child, and though his main concern should have been the wellbeing of such creatures, the pride he held upon his warrior sister and the respect he had for the Queens resting back in Cair Paravel, refused to allow any sort of doubt to come at a sign of danger where its swiftness came as clear as it had when the dark horse began making its way away from the river almost at once, in the complete opposite direction from the one he had called from. "HALT, I SAY," he called again; the blade of his sword slashing the air above him. "IN THE NAME OF THE KINGS AND QUEENS OF NARNIA!"

"WHOA!" He heard the echo of a female voice say alongside a couple of other words he did not understand; but that single expression toward the horse and the swift pull the woman's hands had done upon the reins had the deep black stallion whinnying and lifting its front legs on the air, making that which Peridan finally could see was a young child as he approached them nearly dig his tinny fingers on the horse's fur to stay atop it. The woman, on the other hand, used pure balance and the grip of her legs to stay there.

It wasn't until the moment the horse's hooves met the ground again, that Lord Peridan fully noted the green and yellow decorations of the saddle cloth that covered the stallion's back; that single detail made the careful lord refuse to hesitate to point the sharpness of his blade in the direction of the woman's face, hidden under the endless amounts of long tangled hair as dark as the stallion under her. "State your business, Archenlander; else you won't take another step before my blade becomes the last thing you feel." His breathing matched the heavy breaths of the woman, whose leather-gloved hands lifted in the air surrendering as they moved empty to pull long strands of messy hair from her face, and finally the familiar depth of moon-lit brown eyes looked back at him with the urgency and pleading he never would have thought to see in them in his life. "Your royal highness?!" Lord Peridan immediately exclaimed, lowering his sword only slightly for the familiarity of the woman who looked back at him: Juno, Princess of Archenland.

"Oh, thank the Lion, Lord Peridan." She said; a breath of relief escaping from full lips as her hands lowered once again to try holding onto the reins she had had to let go of.

It was the same moment Peridan's sword lifted steady once again. "Ah, ah." He warned her, his eyes falling to her hands for a second before they returned to the gentleness of her brown eyes. "I'm sorry princess," he truly meant that more than anything. "But I cannot allow you to move until I am sure your tidings are not ill-intended; you are beloved by the Kings and Queens still, indeed, but circumstances force my hand to be careful. Thus, I repeat: state your business, and pray it is good so my sword can rest away from your royal face and no more offence be done to you."

The pleading of her eyes only tainted away the relief she had felt, and only a speck of fear made her hands lift to her sides again regardless of the urgency that befell her words: "Oh, my Lord, I beg you, do not stop me any further; time is of the essence, and I must go to the Kings and Queens you speak of before it is too late. I am come with no ill-tidings at all, but to warn you all. Why else would I come in the middle of the night and so terrified with my young nephew at my side? Please, kind Lord, allow me through, or if you need ask your questions as them as we go to Cair Paravel where my escape might serve some good and all those I hold dear in my heart can be warned. Please, Lord Peridan, please, lower your sword and make haste! We must go before it is too late!"

"You say that twice so I ask you, slow down." His voice was as aware as it had before, but where it had been so for worry of immediate danger, now it only tainted the words he spoke with the worry of danger for those back in Cair Paravel; his sword immediately lowered and his other hand moved to pull the reins of his horse so it could turn to face the same direction hers had been running towards moments prior. "Let us go at once, as you say, and while we do, I ask you still, please: tell me what happened."

Thus with a single nod, and the soft shift of their heels against their horses sides to begin the half-day travel to Cair Paravel, she did: she told him everything that had brought her there.

♦

"For a moment, I  _did_  wish I was joking only for the looks on your faces." Edmund was saying, taking a soft sip of his goblet full of honey wine as he looked in the direction of Peter and Susan across from him from the round table where they had decided to have their late lunch that day, making young Athena laugh at the other side of Peter for the mere memory of the happenings of his birthday only a week prior; the aftermath of it had been nothing more than joy, and though the newly engaged couple celebrated the truth that the romance they had been hiding never had to come to an end or hidden ever again, most of the work of the days after had revolved around making little alliances with the cities of those five princesses and duchesses that had been otherwise falsely promised to King Edmund.

It was the fact that he had never been engaged to any one of them, nor anything specific promised to those who had been offered his hand without his knowledge, that allowed the joy of the announced engagement to come welcome to every single person that night and the days after; why the princesses and duchesses did not carry offence, or that the cities were so willing to make alliances. But such alliances had not truly allowed the rest of the family to speak alone within their every meal, for one person or other had to be invited to lunch or supper for the sake of making them feel welcome, making that day's specific late lunch the first one shared between only family and close friends, as were Athena and Juliet, where they could talk about the situation freely, not worried that any word they might say might be taken wrong or could cause strife between cities. "I think Peter was ready to strike you if you admitted it to be a joke." Susan acknowledged as her fork was set down on her empty plate. For some reason, she was always the first one to finish eating.

"I was not." Peter countered with a shake of his head regardless of the soft smile that lifted his lips. "I was simply shocked, that's all." He took a bite of the salad he had left to eat for last, licking any residue juice of tomato that had fallen on his lips. "Especially since Juliet had said she'd never marry."

To that, at least, to accompany the soft laughs from Lucy, Athena and Susan, Juliet easily spoke: "Nay, Peter, I said I wouldst ne'er marry for anything other than love, and it be thus which made me accept Ed where I couldst not accept thee; for I love thee like a brother, not a husband."

Of course Peter nodded, happy to leave the situation there, but Edmund, unable to push away that small pride within his mind of having someone at his side who could have easily chosen his brother instead, couldn't stop the comment from leaving smiling lips: "Now, Pete, don't be greedy." Even a single hand reached for Juliet's on the table regardless of how he spoke to him. "We all know you  _loooove_  Athena enough to probably marry her some day, so don't go around being jealous because Juliet said yes to me and not you."

Completely ignoring the way the General had nearly choked on her own honey wine due to Edmund's words, Peter replied blushingly as he forced himself to chew and gulp his food, "I am  _not_ jealous; I have no reason to be, I'm happy for you. Both of you." Not that anyone could see, but under the table, Peter tried comforting Athena even if it was only slightly. "As I said, I was only shocked."

"We all were." Said Susan, pouring herself a little more honey wine for the sake of cleansing her palette and not get up whilst everyone was still eating.

Whilst Juliet's hand became free and she went back to the chocolate tart she'd been eating, Edmund's amusement lit the colour of his words, "I know; I could see it in your faces."

"It's only your fault for hiding it for so long." Susan continued.

But before the young King could reply to such an accusation, Lucy's voice interrupted such a thought instead. "How  _did_ you hide it for so long?" Her big blue eyes curious as her hands spread black maple upon her fruit salad.

The short look Juliet and Edmund shared for that moment became enough for the young protector to blush slightly as her eyes fell back to the half eaten tart on her plate. "Let's just say Jules and I have grown  _very_ familiar with the secret passages inside the castle."

"And the gardens," She completed without looking away from the melting chocolate on the otherwise perfectly white plate.

"Mm, and our—my library." Edmund confessed alike shortly after swallowing another gulp of honey wine, therefore naming his private library as his and Juliet's out loud for the first time; it was absolutely no surprise to anyone that the little silence of surprise created by both their confessions—where Susan, Peter, Athena and Lucy all looked at each other with equal shock and smiles—quickly broke by a wave of laughter from them all, which made the engaged couple look up from their food and only join in the laughter for their own short embarrassment; clearly, it was going to take a while to get used to people knowing they were together at all.

The joy of such a conversation unfortunately had to dissipate the moment Lord Peridan came in through the big door, almost breathless, with a familiar face close in tow. "Juno?!" Peter was the first to react, forgoing the fork he had been holding and letting it fall with a clink on his plate as he stood from his chair whilst everyone else simply looked in the direction of the door; all hints of happiness immediately fading away into a memory the moment both Lord Peridan and Princess Juno's expressions befell them all. Indeed, Peter had been happy to see Juno's face in Cair Paravel once again, for though no romantic love ever spread between them, an important friendship had been formed during their year-long engagement, but his relief dissipated alongside everyone else's at the seriousness and even worry of her big brown eyes. "What's wrong?" He asked, managing only then to move his gaze to her companion.

A companion that immediately fully stepped into the room and bowed regardless of how truly every single person in the room was friends in one way or another. "I beg your pardon for interrupting, your majesties." He said, looking at Peter's side at Athena, who rose to her feet and reached automatically to the side where her sword usually rested; a sword that was not there now merely for the practicality of having to sit down comfortably without it. "I would have sent word, but I had to leave my post much sooner than my relief would have come, and I couldn't let Princess Juno comes alone all the way here."

"We understand," Edmund said, all sort of playfulness or even embarrassment gone entirely from his face; the love-torn boy was gone, and the King had taken his place. "What happened?"

Susan got up almost immediately from her chair and started in the Princess' direction, "Meaning no offence, my dear Juno, but you look dreadful, are you alright?" Even her hands reached for the girl of the messy hair and pale complexion even against the topaz of her skin; no one had ever seen her in such a state before.

To no one's surprise, the only thing that answered Susan was the shaking of the princess' head; her words, in the other hand, wasted absolutely no time to answer everything else, "I came as quickly as I could, and I pray you don't mind that I have brought my nephew with me. Lune has lost his mind, he has become violent, and—and... first it was just vases being thrown to the walls, and now—may the Lion protect us all, now almost everyone in the castle is terrified of him, but no one will dare stop him, so I am here to warn you, all of you, before it is too late: you must prepare for war."

"Oh, dear." Lucy said, looking away from the shaken princess in direction of her siblings, just before she got off her chair as well.

Susan, in the other hand, tried to soothe her as much as she could with a single hand before she simply begged, "Please, princess, slow down. Tell us everything," only the frown in the middle of her forehead contrasted against the kindness of her tone. "What do you mean you brought your nephew? Where is he?"

"I left him with a couple of Lady Juliet's workers at the northern gardens," Peridan answered in Juno's stead, making every eye fall on him as all sense of the peaceful meal they had been having simply disappeared when it came to be noticed that every person had risen from their seats. "Prince Corin is only a child; I didn't think it wise to involve him in all of this."

"He's involved enough," King Peter said, but did not sound reproachful or scolding, only sad that such measures had to be taken. "But he will be safe here, Juno, you have my word."

"Pete," Edmund interrupted; his voice soft, yet the expression that crossed his features was as worried and careful as he ever was in matters so dangerous as those; though he did not speak again until his brother looked at him. "King Lune could  _start_  this war she claims we must prepare for with the claim that we kidnapped the Princess and his own son." Of course, it was rude to even think so, much more say so with Juno so clearly shaken; but... well, within the treachery he had committed what felt like a whole lifetime prior, a residue of doubt had remained even for his closest of friends, and since Juno had never gotten too close to him (mostly because he had been much too worried making time for Juliet and their romantic escapades), not even Lucy or Susan could truly be surprised at his doubt.

Peter, on the other hand, did no more than frown in his direction for the very truth and wisdom that could hide behind the familiar brown eyes of his brother; Edmund did not trust easy, that much they knew, and every kind intention could seem like a trap in his eyes (that caution of his had saved them a couple of treacheries from people who claimed to have shifted sides after the war); so at least, for that, Lucy reached a hand to rest on her brother's arm before she spoke. "Why don't we let Juno explain everything?" She tried to comfort him. "The way it sounds, a war will happen already whether for that reason or not."

"Oh, I didn't even think..." the princess began, her tired eyes glistening with the softness of the tears that threatened to fall. "Oh, please forgive me; I didn't think of how my coming here could be taken, and Corin, oh..." And then her words shifted to a language neither Pevensie or Juliet knew, but Lord Peridan quickly attempted to comfort and respond in only seconds after. Without truly meaning to, at the same time, both Edmund and Juliet made a note in their minds to come to  _learn_ the Archen language, whilst, of course, eventually Peter himself asked what she was saying, and the array of apologies started once again in English regardless of how Susan and Lord Peridan both tried to comfort the Princess (one definitely much more comfortable than the other, given that one was higher and almost equal in station than Juno and the other was not). "I would have sent word by messenger, but I didn't know who I could trust." The princess finally said, being lead to find solace by the offering of a seat, mindful of all the eyes on her. "So I just came myself, and I didn't think it safe to leave Corin there on his own with Lune so angry, and—"

"Please, Juno." Peter finally said, moving easily to kneel by the side of her chair, and even going so far as to reach for a single soft leather-gloved hand. "You did the right thing coming here; we just want to know what happened," he paused, softly removing the glove from the hand he held as he exchanged glances with Lucy, Susan, Athena, Edmund, Peridan and Juliet for a second or two. "Will you please tell us?"

Of course, Edmund felt slightly bad for making the princess have a small breakdown, but as he watched his older brother attempt calming her, he also found himself feeling thankful: no one could be that good an actor; for that same breakdown, he even felt he could trust her at least a little bit. "It all didn't start until a few months ago," Juno began after a couple of beats longer, looking from Peter to Susan, who had kept a hand on her shoulder in the comfort she had refused to cease. "I guess he pretended he was fine with the end of the engagement for a while, but then he... he started being secretive. He started getting angry whenever I even brought up the idea of visiting here; and then the invitation for Queen Lucy's birthday arrived, and—and then he just got angrier and angrier, having private meetings with mercenaries and Lords from other countries; even the Ettinsmoor giants were visiting.

At first I didn't think much of it, I mean... he is King in his own right, he's bound to have meetings here and there; he even began appearing livelier, playing with Corin, smiling at me, making jokes in the middle of dinner." Her head shook again, messy and loose curls moving in a mass of brown as she did; and no one else dared speak. "But then the anger returned only a couple of days before Lucy's birthday, as if it had all been building up until he began throwing things and kicking things until most all fragile things had to be removed from sight; it was dreadful. And all after one meeting with this... strangely dressed man who never dared speak his real name, and called Lune 'Sir Jade of the Righteous' instead of his rightful title; when that man left—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa hang on..." King Edmund interrupted with a motion of his hand as his eyes focused on all his siblings in turn for a second before he spoke again. "Do I  _really_  have to say it?"

It was Susan who replied with a soft shake of her head. "'Sir Jade of the Righteous' was the name that assassin gave us when we asked him who he worked for." She let out a sad breath as her eyes fell to Juno's equally worried and confused eyes. "Of course we could never find anything about this man other than, eventually, the fact that he had been dead for centuries."

"So that means..." Lucy began.

But it was Peter who continued the thought. "That it was King Lune who sent those assassins against us."

"Maybe he got angry again when he realised his attempt had failed." Edmund finished, near-automatically reaching for Juliet, who had been standing silently by his side for the worry and the memory of the little battle she had held against the man who had attempted taking Lucy's life; the one she had died for.

As the princess released a horrified breath and both her hands lifted to cover her face, Juliet felt a phantom pain upon the place the still pink scar rested just under her left breast. "Oh, it is so much worse than I thought; I can't believe he would—" Juno said within a muffle from behind her hands, just before dropping them to rest crossed against her chest, as if placing her hands there would make her heart relax, before finishing her thought. "No, I would. I would put nothing past him now, not now." Her head shook her eyes lifting to look into Peter's again as the urgency from the moment she had slipped into the room. "Even Corin was scared of him, the poor boy." She gulped as her hands lowered to rest on her lap again. "Though I must confess, the timing still seems strange to me" she admitted as she looked to Lucy, just behind Peter. "When, thank the Lion, the attempt against your life failed, his anger _did_  grow, but when the man of the strange clothes left, Lune didn't seem set on war; in fact... I remember him telling me 'maybe that will be it, my fate is to lose.' Of course, I did not know what he meant at the time, but now..." Her head shook again. "A week, perhaps two weeks ago at most, his plans began changing once again, and all hopes that he truly  _had_  given up on this ill-attempt to expand his territory into Narnia went away, for he began meetings with army generals of Ettinsmoor, and other countries whose colours I do not know; that's when I knew, I simply  _had_  to tell you.

Of course, I forced myself to wait, to—to spy if I could, so I could learn what he intended and I could come here with information, so you could be saved from his foolishness." Even her pause was sorrowful; guilty, even. And who could blame her? She was informing against her own family, against her own people. Because of her, because of the information she might share with them, a lot of people she called her own could die or be hurt. "I stopped asking myself why, and focused, instead, on the how."

Peter's gaze fell, and it didn't take long before a breath of disappointment as much as worry fell from his lips, regardless of how he stood from his kneeling position as he spoke: "I can imagine the why well enough," he admitted, his eyes resting on Athena for a moment or two before a single hand graced the side of her arm. "Jealousy doesn't mix well with kings."

"True as that might be," Edmund quickly said, as he stood straight once again, let go of Juliet for the security of her state by his side, and crossed his arms upon his chest, retaking the position of King instead of the worried fiancé he had been seconds prior. "I would still like to know the  _how_ , so Athena can prepare the army, and all of us can prepare as well."

If not to all the other remarks he had made during the entire conversation (be it for his own well-guarded reasons or not), to that much at least, Peter did glare at his younger brother whilst his hand fell to his side once again. "Princess Juno came to warn us, and she  _has_ warned us. I think that is more than enough for us to work through it without having to make her betray her own people."

"No." Juno quickly said before Edmund could respond, standing from the chair where everyone had been comforting her and facing everyone once again, even with the fierce little shadow of a frown in the middle of her forehead to accompany her. "That is why I stayed by Lune's side and played the dutiful sister these past two weeks, so I could come here and tell you everything I know." He paused. "I respect him, but he is being foolish, he is being prideful, and I would never wish death upon you simply because he is letting his pride get in the way of his rule; you are  _my_ friends, all of you, and if I have to betray my foolish brother to save all of you from his wrongfulness, then I will, even if it hurts me."

Susan quickly intervened. "We would never let it hurt you," she comforted with her hand returning to the princess' arm. "You're under our protection; you and your nephew. You have our word."

Almost everyone in the room nodded; even Juliet, who would definitely not be part of a battle unless Lucy herself was called to arms. With a single hand resting atop Susan's with the acknowledgement and thanks of her own comfort, Juno surprised no one by speaking again: "Then let us speak of what matters now," she announced. "Lune is gathering his troops at Glasswater Creek today..."

It did not take long for her to tell them everything she had been able to overhear, and her information helped Edmund and Athena endlessly to plan where and how many of their soldiers to take; but what mattered the most was that, within the treachery she had done to Archenland, Princess Juno had helped as much the monarchs as the realm. And they would not forget it, for, from that day forward, Juno Laelia would be everywhere known as The First Pillar of Narnia's Safety; and loyal friend to the country evermore.


	40. Chapter 40

─ ♚ ─

The birds sang outside against the cold of the approaching winter as it attempted to murder the last echoes of autumn, but even their little melodies were drowned out by the endless hooves knocking on the dried grass and hard ground as they were led away from the camp formed only a couple of miles east from Glasswater Creek, led by the Just King in his armour of gold and silver on one side, and Queen Lucy, in her intricate armour to match her brother's at the other; by her side, contrasting the more practical sort of armour worn by the Valiant Queen, as Lady Athena could think begrudgingly standing just under the threshold of the High King's tent, was Juliet Capulet, riding her beloved white mare whilst wearing a red dress of cotton that reached her ankles, atop which rested a good layer of chainmail up to her thighs and the intricate silver that covered her torso up to just above her chest, like a corset made in a deadlier version than those most women had worn back in England long ago. Pride rested deep within the General's heart, to be able to see Juliet, who she had continued tutoring on the art of sword-mastering, so readily riding off with her Queen, holding softly to Isabella's reins (the name Juliet had told her that the mare herself had agreed with by nodding her head and whinnying in happiness) and wearing a sort of armour that befitted her girly and ever soft demeanour; but still, the unpractical means of such an armour still made the young General frown as the army disappeared into the woods, with Juliet's red dress being the only to cover her mare's backside so very distinctively that Athena found yet another downside to her choice of clothing.

It wasn't that the warrior herself hadn't attempted to convince the immortal girl to wear the full armour instead of having a set so specifically made to her own pleasures, because she had; she had even gone to the smithy and the tailor with Juliet and had argued the impracticality of the dress she so stubbornly demanded be made for such an occasion; even if the chainmail and the dress sleeves did not reach past her elbow and thus left her beloved daggers visible and much easily reachable, the length of the dress could work against her legs if Juliet came to need them, and her hair... "I do plan on keeping my hair up and away from my face if I ever come to need such an armour" she had said, but still, Athena had insisted that she have a full armour like Lucy's made, or hers; but, well, clearly, as the army continued disappearing into the woods and the image of Juliet in her red dress and silver outer corset became nothing but a memory, she could only see her advice had been ignored. She was proud regardless, but the quick nervousness that kept her rooted at the threshold of the High King's tent while he was being dressed in armour behind her was enough to make her worry for the impracticality of Juliet's own regardless of how the only impractical thing about it was the length of her dress; but the truth was that the worry of the length of Juliet's dress was only a mask to every single thing her mind could otherwise decide to focus on and floor her if she let it.

The battle was well on its way to coming true, and her plans, regardless of how good they were, felt treacherous within her nervousness only for being the first ones that were only hers as General; so much could go wrong according to her mind, and oh, for it her heart beat wildly within her chest as a hand held on to the fabric that made up the door of sorts to the King's tent; she felt as if her hands were sweating, and even her beloved new armour of silver and gold strangled her or made it hard for her to breathe, but the echoes of the High King and her brother, Lord Peridan, helping Peter prepare himself for battle behind her forbade her from letting any of those things show, because how could she give strength to those who followed her if the nervousness of her insecurities drowned her so evidently for everyone to see? Thus none of it showed; her hands moved to ball into soft fists when she turned about, her lips parted to let in a deep breath, and every single hint of discontent became nothing but a secret buried deep within her mind by the time a small smile lifted the corners of her lips in response to Peridan's own; the truth was, he had spoken, but every single thing her mind had been drowning in simply refused her the ability to have heard it, but whatever it was he had said, it was leading her brother out and away from Peter's tent. Suddenly, she truly wished she had heard his words; at least then she would be able to know if the little smile she responded with had been appropriate before he had left.

And there her mind went, worrying for little things instead of acknowledging what  _really_ worried her. "Alright, so... checking the plans," She said, looking at Peter's hands as they fixed a few folds on his clothes and armour that he evidently had sent Peridan away before he had done them. "We wait until they march past and we flank them from the sides," God it sounded almost like a question, "Then Ed and Lucy take the attack head on."

To her surprise, Peter smiled as his eyes shortly lifted to look at her. "You  _did_ make this plan." He even sounded slightly amused at the repetition, mindless of her own nervousness, because she was simply that good at hiding it.

Perhaps if she were alone she would even have shaken her whole body to attempt releasing some tension in her muscles; but instead, because she was not, she simply nodded her head shortly. "Right, alright." She even smiled again; something easy for her to find the will to do with Peter Pevensie so close to her. "I know I'm smart enough to devise a plan, but I do need to remind myself in the off chance I forget."

Peter surprised her once again, but this time by laughing; of course it only took that for her own smile to become much more genuine than it had been moments before. "Athena, I swear... you make me laugh and smile at the same time so much my cheeks are going to hurt one day." Even while his hands tightened the belt where his sword rested, and the last details of his readiness became done, the laughter remained, and the brightness of his blue eyes invited the young warrior to meet the amusement alike. If she could make the High King smile so much his cheeks hurt, then the rest was worth it.

Still, the echoes of their laughter mixed so beautifully that the heaviness within her heart pushed so strongly onto her and a small knot became entwined within her throat; it was the proximity of the battle, the truth of her neglected emotions, and the relief of their woven laughter that made the urgency to take a step forward, toward the smiling King, so necessary. Because there came her thoughts again, hidden so perfectly from all her features yet heavy still, about every possible outcome of that day's purpose; from victory to defeat and everything the latter meant: blood, death, horror. What if she died? What if someone she loved died? What if Peter himself died? "Peter?" Even his name had to be forced out from her lips, because her own despair had threatened to make the single word break; but no, she simply wouldn't let it.

The King smiled still, unaware of the tempest breaking only a couple of steps away from him, and for it, he simply muttered a "Hmm?" Oh, what it would be like to be so unmoved.

Was it because he believed victory was unavoidable? Did he truly trust her plan so much that it blinded him to all worries? If only she didn't have to be so strong for the sake of those who followed her, then she would gather up the courage and ask him just why he seemed so happy and lacking of any worry; but no, instead, something else left her lips, something she hadn't said out loud regardless of the entirety of the time that it had taken for them both to even admit to themselves that there were feelings woven within their hearts that they would be silly to ignore: "I love you." She had known; god she had known, but just like everything else she ever felt, she denied it. Not even after his engagement to Princess Juno had been terminated, not even after his admission that she had been part of the inspiration for the termination in the first place, not even when Edmund had come to her after his own engagement to Juliet Capulet and told her it was unfair Aslan hadn't forced Peter to get engaged already because  _everyone knows you and Peter are headed there, anyway._ "Peter...?"

She had simply never admitted it to herself, but now even Peter knew it and he didn't speak; yes, his eyes lifted to look into hers with as much surprise as elation, shining within their watery colour so strongly that anyone would have thought the King had just received news that the battle had already been won, but still, he didn't speak; she had said it out loud, and the echoes of her heart trembled into her ears even if it felt so right that even when Peter's hands fell to his sides and his feet led him closer to her she didn't try to stop it. "If I could kiss you right now..." He said, reaching for her and simply refusing himself anything other than the balling of a single fist on the fabric of her red cloak; the one that matched his and Edmund's.

But he wouldn't kiss her, and she was thankful for it, because the two were so sound of mind even through their own dalliance that he simply had to know what she did: it wasn't the place, or the time. "I know; me too." And perhaps it had not been the time or place for her initial admission either, but the truth of her own worry brought her forth, and at least that much she did allow herself to admit: "I just... I needed... in case it's the last time I can say it."

Her eyes danced on his, but it didn't last long, for her frame became wrapped in the silver and gold that covered the King from neck to toe in a gentle song of metal against metal that echoed in a much softer sort than the one that would be heard later, when the battle begun. "It's not the last time," Peter told her as he held her, even if such an embrace did not last as long as even she would have wanted it. "I promise."

It was the shaking of her head that had actually made him let go, and finally a small frown appeared in the middle of his forehead. "Don't..." she warned, her eyes becoming the mirror of her own worry as she looked into his. "Don't promise something you have no control over."

The King gulped. "I'm not going to let you die, Athena." And god, he sounded so sure of his own words that he could have been confused for a God, or if not a God then someone who could truly  _have_  control over when or if she ever died.

She admired his security for so many more reasons than the return of his good mood as a hand, not yet gloved, graced against her cheek so softly that she wished more than anything in the world that it  _could_ be the time and place for her to steal a kiss; but no; no, she could not. Instead, all she could do was return the very sentiment he attempted with an echo of her own: "I'm not going to let you die either." And perhaps only then did she understand his own security, because she knew, even if she could die in the process, that she would try her hardest to stop any lethal blows from landing upon Peter's body; was that what he meant as well?

At least the reappearance of his smile released her from that little bit of the worry that had carried her until then. "I believe you'll fight well." He told her with that same confidence, bringing about the joy of her own smile regardless of how small it truly appeared; "Especially in that new armour."

Oh God, her new armour; of course he had to bring such a thing up, after all the armour was a gift from him, made specifically for her by his own personal tailor in the manner of the armour of the Kings and Queens, with trims of gold and plates of silver that contrasted beautifully with the red cape embroidered with the Lion to head the Pevensie family sigil. It was entirely too much, and she had said as such when he had given it to her, for a noble such as her to wear something matching the royals... but she had accepted it nonetheless. "I have to admit, I do look rather good in it." Indeed; not only did she look like a true general, but she also  _felt_ like one; it was that more than anything else that encouraged her to keep her strength about her, because someone who trembled and cried about her own insecurities did not at all deserve to wear such a thing.

Clearly not for the same reasons, but at least Peter had to agree with a nod of his head. "Red suits you."

And he clearly would have said a lot more, but, before he could, Lord Peridan appeared at the tent's entrance once again, fully clad in his own armour, and looking much readier than Athena herself felt. "General," he called, as if Athena wasn't his adopted sister, as if they had not spent hours upon hours with him teaching her everything she knew, as if she truly were  _the_ General everyone claimed she was but she definitely did not feel like even as she looked at him at his call and the High King stepped away from her immediately. "It's time," Her brother continued, looking apologetically from Peter to her before he finished: "we must go."

Of course Athena nodded; and it took no more than that for Lord Peridan to disappear behind the tent's fabric door and for her to truly need to gulp down her own fears at once. "Alright then," Peter said, making the perfect mask of strength in her green eyes lift away from the place Peridan had disappeared and toward Peter's blues again. "Go," he told her, reaching a hand for hers once again. "Be safe, my love."

The single word sent a chill down her spine that made her wish to do nothing more than throw herself into his arms and kiss him, but blessed be her own means of self-containment because all she truly did was smile wholly at him before a nod allowed the same intention to be mirrored for him, "I'm never going to get used to that." And with no more than a gentle squeeze to his hand, the warrior girl finally left the tent and all her romantic thoughts behind. The silver of her armour echoed with every step she took, and when she reached Athos, her loyal horse, Peridan handed her the helmet to complete the royal armour she carried; once in place, Peridan moved to his own dark brown horse, and the two members of House Rys galloped away from the secure camp to catch up and lead their own battalion of the Narnian army in the same direction Edmund and Lucy had gone, to prepare graciously as they could for the battle that would break the moment the Archen troops crossed the narrow paths north of Glasswater Creek.

Already in place deep within the woods and hidden behind trees, bushes and rocks, Edmund Pevensie's army waited opposite to where Lucy's own did, with the bright red folds of Juliet's dress hidden perfectly behind the rock from which she smiled at him seconds before disappearing behind it once again; he smiled alike, yes, but he was worried. It hadn't been more than a few weeks since their love had gone public by the announcement of their engagement, and only nearly two months since she had died a horrible death by the hands of Lune's assassins; he saw what death did to her, and though, yes, it had not claimed her forever, her pain still had been agonising for him to witness. He did not doubt her ability in battle (his sister was alive because of Juliet dagger-girl Capulet, thank you very much), but still, the possibility of her being hurt, even if slightly due to that intricate armour she had ordered for herself... well, could a love-torn boy be blamed for worrying?

The waiting was the worst of it, because it allowed his mind to go wild with possibilities of what could happen, and with every single imagining he only found himself hating King Lune all the more; perhaps it was unfair of him, unforgiving unlike he had attempted to become considering all the people who had forgiven  _his own_ offences, but may the Lion pardon him: the growing cold of the late autumn made him specially susceptible to anger, and Lune had attempted to kill him and his siblings (and killed Juliet in the process, lest he forget), so his growing hatred as the silence stretched whilst he waited for Athena's horn call for them to attack at last truly only felt more like fuel to the very rage he would happily release against Lune's army. Behind him, those who had been chosen for his battalion waited just as silently, mindful of every breath, every creak of a branch, and every ruffling of leaves, but none more than he truly found means of (perhaps wrongfully) psych himself up for the battle. He thought of his own doubt against Lune when he had even arrived at Narnia, he thought of his indifference to Juno's feelings whenever they spoke even in front of Edmund and his siblings, he thought of his angry features when he exited the Great Hall the day of Peter's engagement termination, he thought of the angry eyes of the assassin that had been set to kill him, or those others that had died trying to murder his older brother and Lucy; he thought of Juliet's mangled body bleeding on the floor of Lucy's room.

And then the horn sounded the first signal, making all hidden soldiers sprout away from their hiding places all at once.

Where there had been silence moments prior suddenly there was an array of noise that became welcome to as much Edmund's as Juliet's ears, for the silence had weighed heavy on them both; horses' hooves crashed against hard ground, and the echo of battle cries filled the air around them, surprising the Archenlanders crossing the way into Narnia enough for even the Archenlander General's own command to arms sound shaky. Athena's plan had worked: because of the Narnian army's silence, the Archen army had crossed the path past Glasswater Creek with no issue, only for Athena's battalion to fall on them from both sides and behind them moments later once every horseman and walking soldier had passed, and with Edmund and Lucy's own battalions coming out from their hiding places right in front of the great Archen Army, the Narnians had them surrounded. One would indeed think that the disadvantage of being surrounded would have perhaps made the Archen General hesitate on his attack, but he did not; no, he called his people to arms and the battle begun.

Of course Edmund had predicted that, and he welcomed it, he never thought anyone would surrender regardless of the surprise of the arrows that fell on them and the army that followed—for battling meant the release of his anger as much as the embracing of warmth as he moved, even atop Phillip as the cavalry from Archenland's army attacked so fully—but still, he surprised himself by realising he had  _hoped_ Lune's General would retreat his attack when the realisation of his being surrounded came; when such a thing didn't happen though, the rest of Edmund's mind nearly scolded him for hoping at all, because what else could truly be expected from a person working for a King who sent assassins when an alliance was broken and a Narnian Lady refused him? By the time his blade met with an Archenlander's, his anger had returned in full.

Everywhere around him the rustling of leaves turned into the song of swords clashing against one another, the whinnying of horses as those who could talk attempted to help their riders on the battle, and the echoes of blade striking flesh; before long the grass under them painted as crimson as Juliet's dress, but still they fought on. On one side of the woods, Lucy, now unhorsed alike most of her battalion, deemed a battle cry loud enough to be as intimidating as her famous dagger, which, though small against her hands and thin (just like she was), struck in the direction of a soldier clad in yellow like all the other Archenlanders, her sword having fallen from her hand, but her ability to reach for her Father Christmas-given dagger was one unlike any other, and the sharpness of that blade spilled the lifeline from her enemy with a sharp swing just under the creature's arm; only steps away from the Queen, Juliet Capulet turned her onyx and silver daggers expertly in her hands to strike at a man who had been attempting to come at Lucy whilst she had been busy, her dark braid flying long around her as she turned and quickly hit at the knee of another soldier at her right, breaking the bone immediately and thus granting her enough time to turn at once and direct one of her now bloody daggers in his direction, making it strike just under his jugular and thus spouting blood at the silver of her armour as much as the crimson of her dress: the very reason she had chosen that colour. Not only was it the Narnian colour combined with the gold, but red also represented the blood she would shed while wearing such garments; and as strikingly as that, it served its purpose.

On the southern side of the battle, Athena fought heavily against one of the enemy army's back warriors, a strong man of onyx complexion that seemed much more skilled than she had felt that morning, but still, the battle had taken all her thoughts away, and with it came her ability to strike true, for her own blade cut at the man's leg with enough force to make him fall heavy on the ground and thus leave the General to face her next attacker instead; the echo of clashing swords and animal growls filled the woods where they fought, and even some of the trees had begun joining the fight for the sake of Narnian survival, but even then, the surprise could not be erased from any feature when the heavy sound of cavalry reached them all from behind, the place headed by the river which they had all but ignored from the moment their plan of surrounding the Archenlanders had successfully played out. It seemed King Lune had not been as unsuspecting whilst sending his troops as Athena had thought regardless of the surprise of their attack, because he  _had_  had the good notion to order some of his men to stay hiding behind the border of Glasswater, and they were all (ready, armed, and lethal) heading in the direction of the battle the Narnians had been winning up until that moment.

It did not take her even longer than a couple of seconds of shock for her to call the command: "FALL BACK!" Athena yelled as loud as she could from the horse she immediately moved to re-mount. "NOW, NARNIANS, NOW! LEAD THEM DEEPER INTO THE FOREST! FALL BACK!" Her sword stroke down to the yellow soldier of the onyx skin that so ardently had gotten up regardless of his hurt leg and tried to stop her from mounting Athos, but she was quicker than he thought, and her sword met the side of his stomach in a gash that made him double over and fall to the ground once again; unfortunately, she had not been quick enough to stop his blade from striking Athos' side, and whilst thankfully the horse himself was unharmed, it had been the horn she had meant to use to call for backup that had stopped the Archenlander's blow. "PERIDAN!" Her eyes searched about for her adoptive brother the moment both halves of the broken horn were tossed aside, not only because she needed to make sure he was alright, but also because he was the only other member of her battalion that had a horn of his own; she finally found him battling two Archen warriors no more than a meter ahead, and it wasn't until he had slain them both that he even dared turn to look where the call came from; by that point, Athena had reached his side. "My horn was destroyed; we need to call the signal. We can't take all of these soldiers alone." It didn't take long for Lord Peridan to nod and encourage his sister to go before he made for the opposite side from where she disappeared to, so he could reach his own horse for the sake of the horn that, if he was able to blow it, would probably save all their lives.

Phillip, Edmund's horse, fought as a warrior himself once Edmund had dismounted, and he did as well as the king he served, kicking back and front with his hooves while the young King hacked right and left with both his swords, because it was in such a way that he had forced himself to learn and thereafter found comfort in, when one sword saved as much as a shield as the deadly weapon it intended to be when he took the enemy by surprise with two weapons instead of one; it was a method he had once observed a long time ago, one that had killed him for all of a second before his sister's cordial had saved and returned life to him, and it was a method he had learnt to be able to defeat his own mental demons when they came. It was that method, in fact, that had thereafter named him the best swordsman in Narnia, and the very same one that allowed him such advantage within the battles he now fought, with his horse close by his side, his sister somewhere near fighting his own battles, and his fiancée kicking Archenlander arse alike.

It was a gory scene all around him, with limbs torn from their sockets by his swordmastering and crimson tainting the grass under his feet; but even such a scene did not worry him as much as the echoes of the loud horn did when it came from the far southern edge of the field, tooting once, twice, and thrice as the signal that would reach his brother loud enough to know that his own battalion was needed as backup from the west, spread all around them. What was more worrisome actually was the General herself riding deep into his and Lucy's side of the battle, because the only reason for such a thing would be if more troops had come in from the south; and if such a thing was truth, then suddenly he understood the Archenlander General's decision to fight instead of surrender when he had been surrounded. "ARCHERS, WITH ME!" Athena called from her horse, riding well past Edmund and the brand new battle that faced him when a soldier so foolishly struck at the back of his armour; the silver was thick enough so the blow did nothing more than hurt as if he had been punched, but the shame of being distracted enough to even be struck at all was enough to make the king turn, swords ready, to hack off his attacker's head.

It wasn't too long after that when a welcome sound of cavalry and soldiers came from the western side of the woods, where Athena had taken the archers and most of the battle was happening, announcing Peter's arrival to help; with his battalion the Narnians outnumbered the Archenlanders three to one, and the realisation of it seemed to clearly befall the bleeding and shaky Archen General, or so Juliet could assume, when the pause of his fighting came, and his steps led him in a small circle in one place, whether basking on the horror he had provoked, or the very obvious possibility of his defeat, she didn't know, but she couldn't help feeling slightly satisfied even as she pulled one of her daggers from a soldier she had just defeated. The battle around them continued with few soldiers from Narnia's side falling and many more from Archenland; Peter was one of the dismounted soldiers that remained at the edge of the battle near the archers while the cavalry and most centaurs crossed the field almost to the very end, where they would reinforce those Narnian troops that had grown thin after the arrival of the extra forces from Archenland, and before long, Narnia's victory was clearer than it had been even from the beginning of the battle. A loud word in a language Juliet could only assume to be Archen rang from the lips of the enemy general, and while for a moment she expected the worst to come yet (her imagination could make a lot of what a single word could mean), seconds later many yellow warriors began retreating, running and mounting whatever horse of their troops that they could find so they could head back from the direction they had come. Indeed, some fights continued all around her, people too far from the enemy general to acknowledge his call before seeing their own people retreat and thus follow alike, but even through those fights the Narnians knew they had won, and many begun to cheer.

A couple of stubborn Archenlanders remained fighting Queen Lucy and Juliet behind her, so it was slightly difficult to look away from their own enemies when the voice of King Edmund came in an echo loud enough even through the cheers "ARE YOU ALL SEEING THIS!?" They were words that Juliet herself took as a cheer of his own for the retreating enemy and even made her smile regardless of the good fight the Archenlander fighting with her was putting up (why her enemy didn't retreat with all his people, she didn't know), but soon after, her assumption of cheerfulness for the battle from her fiancée's words was proven wrong when his voice came again. "PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE SEEING THIS."

It was Queen Lucy's reply, which came in tired echoes and stolen breaths as she fought as expertly and valiantly as her title deemed her, that further confirmed Juliet's sudden suspicion that it was not the victorious battle King Edmund spoke about. "I'M A LITTE BUSY AT THE MOMENT, ED." Lucy exclaimed, kicking at the legs of her enemy as a proven point of what she spoke.

But Juliet soon finished her own fight with a bloody strike of her daggers on the man's throat, and though he had managed a slash of his own upon a part of her forearm that was exposed, she was perfectly victorious enough to finally be able to look in Edmund's direction to see what exactly he was cheering so loudly about; when she followed her fiancée's line of sight, she perfectly understood the reason of his joy: nearly at the edge of the field, where most Archenlanders were already gone, Peter held his bloody sword on one hand and Athena close against him with the other, and they were entwined in a kiss so deep that it had made Athena's own sword's tip rest softly on the grass by her feet as one of her hands rested against the armour of her beloved High King. It wasn't too long after Juliet became witness to such a scene that Lucy's own battle ended and the young Queen stood by the side of her Lady and Protector to be witness to Peter and Athena's love alike; but where Juliet had been entirely too happy to say anything, Lucy did not stay quiet at all: "ABOUT TIME!" She yelled in her older brother's direction with her hands around her mouth to make the sentiment louder even if he was entirely too preoccupied with the very kiss he had been dying to allow for days, weeks, and months.

The two only parted when Lucy's voice came again in a warning so both of them could, together, defeat a rogue Archenlander that attempted to use their romantic distraction as a reason to further attack, but soon after, their lips met again, and this time even the couple's swords were forgotten on the ground so his hands could fully wrap around Athena's frame and he could spin her about without the separation of their lips and the very love he had kept quiet for much too long and for too many reasons alike. The battle was over, his engagement to Juno was long over, and finally there was no other reason to keep the two apart, so he had not been able to even wait for them to get back before he kissed his beloved Athena at last.

And so it was that the Narnians cheered for the victory and the displayed love between their High King and General alike, and eventually, even Edmund reached Juliet to wrap his arms around her from behind even in their bloodied state, pressing a short kiss against her temple and simply smiling at the sight of his brother and best friend truly together at last; personal wars had been fought, a victory against Archenland rang all about him, and with Juliet in his arms, his family safe and his older brother deeply in love and finally showing it, everything within his world finally felt fair and right.


	41. Chapter 41

─ ♚ ─

He was sweating; it was the right middle of winter and Peter Pevensie was sweating so much he simply had to push the sheets of his bed away from his body, but none should be fooled to think that it was the weather that had made him so, because the white flakes of winter so covered the ground, and every single fire in the castle was lit whilst every bed was covered by furs so thick no one was bound to feel even a little bit of the cold from the outside. No, what had left the High King so shaken and sweaty was the very dream he had only just woken from, with the strange imagery, the tears he had seen, and the very emotions that had left his heart so absolutely hollow even pacing in front of his bed could not help him free himself from the thoughts such a dream had left behind; the beat within his chest simply wouldn't relax, and the frown in the middle of his forehead simply wouldn't dissipate. Eventually he did feel cold, but only because his window had been left open and the breeze of the young winter had slipped within and made his sweat become cold, almost as if he'd taken a bath and then stepped into a wintery field for no other reason than idiocy, and so he decided to change his clothes, all the while his mind simply reeled with endless thoughts that the dream's images would not let him let go of.

As it was, there was no true reason for the High King to be so absolutely distraught as he was that extremely early morning, when the sun had not even begun to think of coming out, and the crickets, owls, and other night creatures continued singing their nightly melody outside the now closed window, because the environment within Narnia since the victory at Glasswater Creek had been one of peace, joy, and even the welcome back to the young Duke of Archenland, Lark Moor, who had been as much a joy to be seen for the Kings and Queens as Princess Juno and Prince Corin had become a part of Cair Paravel; the young man of curly hair and bright blue-green eyes had been sent by King Lune after the defeat of his army to try figuring out some sort of agreement Narnia and Archenland could come to in order to avoid more war, a rather amusing prospect given the timing of the order, which came after murder attempts and a literal invasion. It made the act seem like more of a desperate attempt to keep some peace King Lune had not even wanted now that he knew he could not defeat the Narnian army even with the financial help of Calormen; still, Duke Lark had been wholly welcome for the means with which he had been happy to see the Princess and even exclaimed he had wished to leave the country himself once he had seen how insane the King had become.

So a place in Cair Paravel had been happily offered to the young Duke, and every person (except Edmund, with his constant doubts and suspicions) welcomed the boy as if he had never left in the first place, making of the well known Narnian castle a peaceful place alike the one it had been before the rekindled flame within the High King's heart had gotten in the way of his plans for Narnia, when Athena Ashdown had been brought back near-death, and every single letter he had written to her during her absence became evidence to the very love he had been entirely unaware of until she had disappeared. It was, in fact, the very general that Peter Pevensie thought of as he pulled a pair of trousers on that cold winter night, knowing well that he would not be able to return to sleep after the very images he had seen unwanted within his dreams; he did not care that the sun was a long way from coming out, or that he had barely even gone to sleep in the first place, nothing he did would be able to make his mind relax enough to welcome sleep again.

Instead, he thought of her, the beautiful brunette warrior he had finally publically (or as publically as a battlefield was) admitted to love only a month prior by mere action; she with the soft green eyes, beautiful smile, and wonderful kissable lips. But he didn't think of her happy alike he wished he could always think of her, but crying, because that had been exactly the way he had seen her in that dream, clad in a dress unlike the armour she always carried, with long loose tresses of brown flowing behind her and the emerald eyes he loved looking into glistening with the strangeness of her tears as they fell slowly against her cheeks; what had been worse had been the way not one of the images in the dream had made sense, from Aslan, to Athena, to Edmund and the blasted stag by his side. Yet it was Athena and her tears and… worse that haunted him from the moment he had woken sweating in his bed, and it was her face and the love he had for her that kept him pacing along the length of his room as he tried making any sense of what he had seen inside his head and the very anxiety that such images and thoughts had brought. Suddenly, he needed to see her, an urge so strong and high that his heart began to hurt and his breath began to feel heavy enough to make him stop walking at once, all for need of making sure she rested safe and sound in her bed instead of dead somewhere the way he had forbidden himself to think of almost two years prior; the way her eyes had looked at him within that dream, glistening and sorrowful made one of his hands thread through the golden locks on his head, his eyes staring at the door of his room as if it alone could give him the answers that would make him rest against the very urgency that made a knot form in the middle of his throat.

 _She's asleep,_ he thought, trying as much as he could to convince himself that the urgency had to be ignored, that he should let her be, force his mind to remember the very joy that that overtaken Cair Paravel since the victory from a month prior, and let her be; but it didn't matter how much he tried, how much he told himself she was alright, how much he forced his body to even turn away from the door, the urgency that kept his heart beating wildly within his chest simply could not be ignored, and before long, his steps were leading him toward the door and further in the direction of one of the many stairwells within the Northern wing against his better judgement. Athena Ashdown was the general of the Narnian army, which meant that she rested upon the same place all the highly important nobles rested: a couple of floors under his own private wing, with the main counsellors, her brother, Lord Peridan, and those people who were specifically under Peter's command; still, it felt like it took too long for him to even arrive outside her chamber door, and even when he had, every single urgency that had driven him there turned into the concern and fluster of a young man in love, making him pace in front of her door for a second or two, until the echoes of the steps of one of the night guards (a brand new post created after the assassination attempt against him and his siblings) reached his ears from somewhere near, making the love-driven king gulp the very knot that had not left from the moment he had left his room, and lift his hand to knock on the young general's door.

A second passed, then another and another until the very guard that had inspired him to hurry to knock finally reached the very mouth of the hallway Peter himself stood in, making the High King stand as still as he could to not be seen by the guard at all; but, well, he had chosen the best in the castle guard to keep watch during the night, and it so showed by the quick reaction of the gentle faun who quickly pulled his sword and began walking in his direction with a "Stop there!" In a voice loud enough to sound almost like the blast of a horn in a hall so silent as the one where the King so frozen stood.

"At ease, sir," the King called, his hands lifted by his sides in show of surrender for the sake of making the already unfortunate situation less of a problem even with the loud echo of their voices within the once silent hallway. "It's only me." In fact, if the knock had not awakened the general, the rest of the noise surely had; and not only her, but the few other sleeping people hidden behind every door.

The poor faun, who had reached the High King with his exposed sword and the torch he carried as he went about his patrol, almost fell into a kneel begging of forgiveness toward Peter once the words reached him and the light of the flame broke the shadows that had covered Peter before. "Your Majesty, please, forgive me; I did not mean to threaten you." After all, he had come at the King with a sword out right, and even such a thing could be considered treason if anyone was going to be technical about it.

But, of course, Peter would not be, because, sword or not, the faun had only been doing his job (much better than he had expected him to do it given the way he had attempted to remain still and unseen), and the misunderstanding of his own silence and lurking demeanour were truly to fault for the whole thing in the first place; thus, he finally lowered his hands, and allowed the familiarity of his Kingly smile to lift the corners of his lips. "Please, rise, sir. There was no threat made but one of a knight against he who seemed a stranger, all is well."

The faun stood alike he was allowed, and the relief and joy at seeing his king became evident upon the lift of his lips as his sword was placed within its scabbard at once; of course, perhaps the poor creature shouldn't have reacted as such given the known kind nature of the High King, but never before had any of the Kings and Queens been accidentally threatened with a sword, thus none knew the sort of reaction any of them could have. "Thank you, your majesty." The knight said; eyeing the General's door for a moment before his eyes fell back on the High King. It was evident he wished more than anything to ask what he was doing there, but clearly he also decided it wasn't any of his business, because he simply pressed his lips together, bowed in his direction, and forced himself to say: "If you will allow me, I should return to my patrol."

Amused, embarrassed, and rather hoping that anyone who had woken up made of the loud sounds nothing more than a speck of their own dreams, King Peter nodded in agreement, with the smile still present on his lips, and motioned freely for the knight to go back the way he had come so the wonderful security he had provided could resume in places where it was actually needed; without another word, the faun did turn to leave, and Peter's smile of polite kingship turned into one of amusement at the ridiculous situation come from the very urgency that had driven him to Athena's door in the first place.

The situation alone had made him feel less preoccupied for a second or two, and he was thankful for it regardless of the ease with which his worry returned once he thought of her again; how silly had he been, not taking a torch of his own, not even thinking of what he was doing and simply acting on instinct and need, pacing in front of her door as if he were a thirteen year old boy with a crush instead of a King of twenty one absolutely lost in love with the woman resting in the room at the other side of the door. Yes, the worry returned, and it was as suffocating as it had been back inside his own room, but the ease with which he lifted his hand to knock on her door again was welcome by the reminder of who he was, where, and when; even though the dream he had had returned in strength within his mind, and his love for Athena Ashdown felt perilous as the very urge that had driven him there, a brand new need grew in regards to his visit to the general in its entirety, leaving a chilling sense of relief running down his spine when a smiling Athena appeared, with a candle held in her hand, through a small opening of her bedroom door.

There she was, alive, safe, smiling in complete contrast with the image he had seen inside his head, and the amusement lifting her features was enough to make his heart feel as if it fell all the way to his stomach for the relief such a thing brought him. "Hi," she said, green eyes lit only by the little flame of the candle she held and making Peter feel like some sort of hope could rise within his heart if he let it, simply by the sound of her voice.

It had been a dream _... just a dream, just a dream_  he tried to tell himself over and over again, but it didn't work. "Hi," he echoed, relief, worry, and love printed all over his features clearly enough that it made his smile become so small that eventually even Athena herself lost any hopes of teasing the High King against the little situation with the guard.

After all, she had heard everything due to her light-sleeping nature, which had allowed her to wake by the first knock of the King. "Is everything okay?" She asked instead of everything she had meant to say before, finally making the smile upon her lips dissipate only as much as Peter's own.

To as much his surprise as hers, the High King's head bobbed shortly in a nod before he simply said, "Yes, I think so, I..." But he trailed off, and the doubt within her eyes became enough to make him release a breath as full of relief and despair (therefore further worrying the general in front of him if he could judge by the deeper appearance of a frown in the middle of her forehead) that eventually all he could do was simply look at her and make his voice sound slightly less shaken than he actually felt. "Can we talk?"

At least that seemed to make a little more sense, for the general's head almost immediately began to bob in a nod and her steps began to lead her back into her room. "Of course, Peter." Even further opening the door by clear invitation towards the High King to step inside as she turned to place the candle by her desk without moving worried eyes away from him at all. "Anything;" The candle flickered with the soft wave of wind her actions brought, but it remained lit even by the time it rested unmoving on the desk.

When the door closed behind the King, the flame danced again, but Athena wouldn't have noticed it for the very worry that kept her eyes on Peter as he turned around to face her again; it was a worry he was not blind to, and even the short jest of his situation with the guard didn't feel as lighthearted as it had before to allow him a smile bigger than the one he simply had for being near her. "I'm sorry for coming so late, I just..." his head shook, his feet leading him slightly closer to the warrior girl simply for the sake of being near her, of even being able to touch her if he wished it, if she let him. "What are we?" He wondered then, driven by his own hesitation to touch her and lifting his eyes towards the shadows hers had become without even having realised he'd looked away. "Us... you know." His heart beat wildly within his chest, and the urgency that once had been to make sure she was alive turned into something else entirely.

She didn't relax; if anything, the little frown in the middle of her forehead deepened enough to make Peter nervous. "We're whatever you want us to be." And perhaps such words should have made relief flow deep within his heart, but the ambiguosity of them worked for no more than a deeper sense or nerves to find home at the bottom of his stomach and the swiftness of his heart.

After all, yes, she was giving him full control of the situation, but that nagging shaken part of his brain, the part that focused only on the images his dream had brought alongside the confusion and fear they had caused him, didn't  _want_  so much control or the freedom it left;  _what do you want?_ He wanted to ask her, but instead a single step took him closer to her before he spoke: "Because I don't want to keep this a secret." He'd had enough of secret romances with his brother and Juliet, if he was being honest.

Yet, to his complete surprise, Athena's lips broke in a smile that released the softest of breathed laughs, with her gaze falling to the ground, her arms lifting to cross under her chest, and her whole demeanour appearing to relax right before his eyes. "Trust me," she said, amusement accompanied by a speck of embarrassment written across her features by the time her big green eyes lifted to look into his again. "I don't think this has ever been a secret." Even her tone of voice became enough to relax him some and the soft growth in his smile to appear as the knowledge of what she insinuated made the situation only slightly less dire, because she had a point; from the endless amounts of teasing from his brother after Athena had been found and rescued, to Lucy's continuing inquiries towards the status of their relationship even before their public kisses at Glasswater Creek, or Edmund's outright mention of their wedding the day Princess Juno had returned to Cair Paravel, she was right: their whole romantic intentions had never been a secret at all. Had Princess Juno herself not made it clear she  _knew_ of his feelings for Athena even before she had left Narnia?

Still, that was before any possibility of him and his beloved general being  _together_ was within reach. "That's not what I mean." He confessed because of it, though the smile upon his lips did not disappear by the time his eyes met hers again.

To her credit, her own smile did not disappear either, but the young worry in her eyes did return. "Then what is it?" She wondered as one hand lifted to push back a few wild locks of hair that would otherwise have blocked her view of the King.

The very King whose heart became forcefully drowned by the horrors of his own mind once again; there was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to yell, all whilst at the same time wishing to get closer to her and wrap his arms around her frame for the sake of never letting go, but his thoughts were too many, and even by the time he attempted to make sense of them with words, all he said came in a jumble of guilt and worry that eventually made Athena's frown deepen and refuse to disappear again. "I'm the High King, and I've made some stupid mistakes; some that have hurt you, and some that have hurt others..." but even those words felt wrong; they felt as if they weren't enough, they dripped with the apology he intended and had never voiced, but did not entirely wrap around the very intention he wished for as yet another step almost completely erased the space between them and his hands reached to try and hold hers. No, it didn't make sense; there was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted her to understand regardless of how it was simply impossible for her to without having seen the things he had inside his dreams, so what could he say? What could he do to make sense of any of it so the purpose brought to him by his realisation of love and maturity just outside her bedroom door could leave his lips? "I love you, Athena." But even that wasn't enough.

He didn't know what to do, and his lack of sense and control clearly worried the young general all the more if he could judge by the disappearance of her smile regardless of the words she spoke: "I love you too." Accompanied by the strong hold of her hands in his and the press she attempted against them.

Whether for comfort or for worry, he wasn't entirely sure. "Please, never forget that, my love." He nearly begged her, but even such a thing did not feel like enough.

"I promise, I won't," She vowed as her eyes searched his and the evidence of worry tensed her shoulders as much as strengthened her hold in his hands. "As long as you don't forget that that love is returned in full." But even whatever urgency that tainted her lips, probably brought forth by the one clearly displayed by his, did not mirror the necessity within his heart making it beat so wildly and thereafter making him gulp down the knot that had formed within his throat.

In fact, when he continued speaking, it almost sounded as if she hadn't spoken at all. "And I don't know how long everything can stay the same, with me on the throne and my siblings at my side, and..." He had to gulp again, a shaky breath escaping his lips whilst the pressing truth that had even led him out of his room drowned any other possible thought away from his mind. "...and you and I together, too." Because the only thing he could see every time he blinked was her tears in his dream, the stag, the blood, the crown that had fallen on the grass...

Clearly, such words, and the very actions that carried him, became simply the limit of the general's silence or lack of expressed worry at last: "Where is this coming from?" She wondered as her hands pressed on Peter's for a second or two before she forced one of them to be free so it could lift in a gentle grace upon the High King's cheek, urging him to look at her again, and making Peter feel ever guilty for being unable to express everything that tumbled like waves of the ocean against the rocks of his mind. "Is there something wrong?" And, god, he wanted to tell her, explain everything, force his lips to part and just blurt everything out even if it made absolutely no sense, make a blubber of nonsense explain everything if it would make the images from the dreams leave his head, but all he could do was shake his head, because even his lips refused to part to speak at all. "Peter, answer me," she urged, nudging him softly as the frown in the middle of her forehead deepened still and shadowed the green of her eyes barely lit by the candle on the desk.

Her worry, which had not been so evident before whilst she waited for him to say what he had to say, now clearly refused to be hidden at all, and a further wave of guilt forced a couple of words to leave Peter's lips even if they did not entirely answer the other's question as clearly as he wished they had: "If the world falls to my hands, I will always be there to pick it back up again." In fact, clearly such words only raised more questions, and even Athena's attempted deep breath did not work to erase the concern from her every feature.

In fact, she gulped, her hand fell to rest on his shoulder, and her head moved to shake so a couple of the wild locks of hair she'd kept behind her ear before became loose. "But you don't have to do it alone," she attempted, pushing her hair away again as her eyes searched his for all the answers and explanations he wished to give her; "You're not as helpless as you think." But even those words did not relax him at all; or at least not more than seeing her smiling with that candle when she'd opened the door already had. His head simply shook. "What's going on?" She begged to know at last, directly, no longer soft, no longer even trying to soothe him entirely, because she simply wanted an answer to her question, else the worry might not let her think of anything else.

But he couldn't explain it, not fully or as urgently as he wished to; or at least not without mentioning the dream, which he really had wished not to do; but the more and more time passed the less sense it made to keep it secret regardless of how strange it would sound, because she was what mattered, and it was as evident as his own necessity, that she was worrying more and more by the second when the tone of her voice rose with her words. "It's going to sound daft," So he breathed deeply, taking back her hand in his and leading it to his lips so the soothing comfort of his attempts could relax her, even if eventually he confessed to the origin of the very thing that had even led him to her room in the first place. "But I had a dream," he said, feeling silly already, "Just before I came here."

With the first understandable and coherent words the King had spoken, Athena relaxed visibly a little as she nodded in encouragement to what the other had said. "Okay..." She even gulped, either glad that he was making sense or glad the trouble was no more than a dream, neither of them could decide. "And what was _in_ this dream?" She asked whilst looking deep into her beloved King's eyes.

Eyes that simply would not give his worst fears away; but still, he gulped, took a deep breath, and tried to explain everything he had seen as well as he could. "I saw Aslan first..." that was how the dream had started, and how he told her it had all happened as he remembered.

He had been laying on a field of grass, trees around him, a strange source of light coming from somewhere near and shining against at the opposite side where the sun was coming from, the grass wet under his body, a tiredness he had not known before carrying him to wish to close his eyes again;  _Peter,_  but that voice had come, and whatever wish of resting disappeared with the hope of seeing the source of the voice he knew he would face.  _Be ready._ Aslan stood there, blocking the heavy light of the sun and smiling down at him in such a way that he had not seen since the battle of Beruna; it filled the king with a happiness and a warmth that had made his lips lift in the dream, only to disappear quickly before he could even speak when a brand new voice called from behind him:  _Pete!_ It had been familiar to the version of him in the dream, but not familiar enough to the Peter who dreamed it, and it had made him look away from Aslan too swiftly to make sense and toward his brother, who looked more like a man as he sat tall atop Phillip, than the eighteen year old boy he was in the world the High King knew he would wake up to. Peter's own horse rested close by Edmund's side, and the Just King waited for him to begin to move, his crown rested softly atop his head, and the smile across his lips was one strange to him only because Edmund Pevensie did not smile all that often. _Are you coming or what?_ His brother had said, and when Peter turned around to see Aslan again, the great lion was gone.

It did not take long for him to decide to get up from the wet grass regardless of his disappointment at no longer seeing Aslan, dusting his clothes off and fixing his own golden crown atop his head before he even began walking in direction of his familiar white horse; what he had noted as he fixed his appearance, though, had been the stubble of a recently cut beard adorning his cheeks and chin, and his hands, which had still been soft and nearly a teenager's when he'd gone to sleep, seemed like a man's, a grown man's in the dream. He was old; how old, he could not tell, but he was grown and even that thought made him feel more confident as he began to stride in direction of his white horse. But he didn't get far, because a big white stag ran right in between him and his path, making him try to avoid it by taking a step back and lifting his hands behind him for the sake of balance; unexpected as it had been, the white stag was beautiful as it disappeared into the greenery in the direction of the unexplained source of light he didn't care to investigate any further.  _Come on then, or we'll lose him!_ Lucy said as she appeared in her own horse, just like Edmund and himself, no longer the sixteen year old girl he knew, but a well grown woman of at least twenty two.

A brand new sort of excitement had made the High King walk with more purpose toward his horse, his heart beating wildly by the time his hand rested on its side, but once again not being able to mount for a brand new and equally familiar echo of his name  _Peter!_  It had been Athena, running in the direction of the horses, who had made him look back that time, and those tears that so completely ruptured her face the ones that had haunted him when he had woken up; her face crumpled with sorrow to match her tears, but her lips lifted in a smile that confused him as he walked to meet her a couple of steps away from the horses; behind her, Oreius and Mr. Tumnus stood with great smiles on their faces that further confused the High King, but still, with a frown upon his forehead, he moved to wrap his arms around Athena at once. He didn't speak, but the way her arms wrapped around him and her tears continued to shake her were enough to pull her closer still, holding onto her so tightly that eventually he even had to close his eyes for the sake of his own comfort; his fingers soothed her hair, and his embrace simply continued trying to comfort her without even ever saying a word, hopeful, careful, and as soothing as his silence would allow. And then, as swiftly as they had embraced, the sounds all around him shifted, making the strangeness of such a thing force him to open his eyes; in his arms Athena remained crying, but in front of him, where Oreius and Mr. Tumnus had been, now there was only war. It was a battle in a field he could not recognise, with many silver-clad soldiers; but what called for the High King's attention the most was the fight in the middle of the field, only a few steps away from where he stood with Athena, which involved his brother, expertly as he had in the battle at Glasswater Creek, and a man Peter had never before seen—eyes brown, tall, hair falling all the way to his shoulders, and a sigil upon his chest that belonged to no city Peter had ever before seen—fighting by his brother's side.

He was going to call toward his brother, ask him what was going on, but before he could Athena's crying mixed with the sound of silver clashing with gold, and the crown at the top of his head fell by the strike of an enemy sword. Almost unwillingly, his arms moved away from his beloved warrior girl to follow the path of the fallen crown, until its golden familiarity crashed against the grass that was tainted by the blood of endless soldiers which had fallen in the battle going on around him, splashing crimson against the material of the crown and making his heart tumble all the way down to his stomach when his eyes fell to his hands, and the crimson of the same lifeline on the floor was noted to cover his palms entirely; when his eyes had wiped back to where Athena had last stood, they were only met with a sight he had seen only once before: the general laying on the ground, eyes closed, and a pool of red surrounding her body entirely. It was that last detail of the dream, in fact, the one which he was completely unable to expel from his lips for the knot the memory created in the middle of his throat, and which also loosely made his eyes close tightly enough that a single tear, which had been building up along every emotion driven within his heart as he spoke of the dream to her, fell softly against the youth of his cheek; and instead of the talk of the crown fallen from his head or the blood resting under Athena's body, all the High King could say as he stood there, holding onto her hands, and fighting against the very dread left behind the moment he had woken up after that dream, was: "I think I'm going to lose you."

Because that was exactly what that dream had made him think, with her broken frame upon the ground, the bloodied crown and the battle against an enemy he had never before seen; this dream, compared with many others he had had, felt real, it had felt so absolutely real that he was not at all surprised he had woken up sweating and had thereafter been unable to fight against the urge to make sure that Athena was in fact alive; yet even with that, with every important detail except the crown or the blood, or her broken body, the young warrior did not seem to understand. "I'm right here," she attempted, a hand lifting to rest upon his cheek again and wipe away the droplet that had fallen, the frown upon her forehead simply refusing to disappear even by then. "I promise you, Peter, you will never lose me." She almost sounded convincing, but his mind told him something completely different.

By Aslan, even explaining to her what he had seen had not made her understand at all. "You can't promise me that," he told her as his hand lifted to find hers, pulling it away from his face and finding means of pulling her even closer, almost completely embracing her the way he had in that dream; but he was scared, he was so scared because "Everything was so clear," Aslan had sounded so sure, and his smile no longer seemed as friendly as it had felt within the dream, but cautious, sad, almost as if he had been about to say something he didn't want to say before Edmund had called him away; and his name... Peter's name... "Aslan... he was speaking  _directly_  to me." Yes, he had said his name; that was the most important detail of the dream, the way it had started, the way he could still hear Aslan's voice calling his name even then, like a warning instead of a welcome.

His head shook, and for all he did, Athena still tried to convince him against everything his mind otherwise so easily told him: "It was just a dream," she attempted, resting her hands on his arms, on his chest, trying as hard as she could to relax him against the very things that had driven him to her room in the first place. "You can't know for sure." As if she had seen, as if she could truly and genuinely know,  _blasted be the fickle fate that told him otherwise, let Athena rule his future evermore._

But the thing was, against the very thing she claimed he couldn't know, he felt that he did; he felt like the very things he had seen were already real, they had already happened, and nothing he did could ever make him change such a thing. He was doomed, she was doomed; and every single fear and urgency that had come the moment he had woken sweating in his bed returned tenfold until he wanted to do no more than hold her and simply never let go. "We  _did_ look older," he told himself in a soft whisper that she could easily hear for the proximity she held against him, where barely any space truly existed between the two. "When I saw Lucy she looked about the same age as you are now, so we still have time..." Even Athena had looked older, he had been older as well, but even the time given did not feel like it was enough.

After all, his hands  _did_  look more like a teenager's than a man's, yet the veins upon the back of them had already begun to become more prominent, and had he not shaved away the first hint of stubble that had begun growing upon the top of his lip and his chin only a couple of days before?  _Oh, Aslan, we're running out of time._ "You're starting to make no sense, Peter." Athena interrupted his nearly terrified reverie with a nervous smile and an  _again_ silent within her words, bringing his eyes back to hers and his mind back to the very present that did not show any danger at all; they were there, standing in the middle of her room, peace all around them, the nightly creatures singing from the nearest window and time slowly clicking by through the passing moon and nearing morning.

Suddenly, and though nothing such as what he meant to say had even crossed his mind when he had decided to go to her room what felt like five hours prior (but truly only had been one), nothing else made sense but what he wished to speak; "Which is why I won't regret what I next ask of you," even the echo of his own wildly beating heart made of his voice nothing but a gentle whisper full of the very urgency that made a hand release one of hers so it could not only push those wild brown locks of hair away from her face again, but rest against his cheek as he said: "Athena Elizabeth Florence Ashdown..." he gulped, his eyes dancing on hers and the very worry that had yet to disappear from them, alongside the confusion or the strange nervousness that had made her smile or release a scoffed breath before; now all there was left was confusion; but still, he continued: "Will you do me the great honour of marrying me?"

The bewilderment within her gaze swiftly shifted into shock, with her great green eyes widening and the frown in between her brows almost freezing as much as the rest of her, because everything he had said before had worried her and confused her and even scared her, but that question... "Are you serious?" She wondered, lids blinking as if she wondered if she had imagined what he had said, which... well, considering how confusing he had been, Peter wouldn't be surprised if that was exactly the case. "You're  _asking_  me?"

Peter had absolutely no other option than nodding almost wildly and speaking once again. "I love you, and I will always keep loving you, as it has been clear for a while," as if she didn't know, as if he hadn't been fighting against it for years and had finally decided to give in to it from the moment his engagement to Juno had been terminated, as if he had been trying to hide it since then, as if he hadn't been dreaming of being able to do what Edmund had done and simply put his own misery to an end so he could have the woman he loved at his side if she would have him. "And I want to spend every moment that I can with you," Oh, every moment; he wanted to forgo the rules like Edmund had done and just sleep by her side the way he did with Juliet, he wanted to find moments along the days when he could steal Athena away from the Narnian army or all her other duties, when he didn't have to be the High King; oh lucky as his brother was to have such freedoms, to keep something like his romance to Juliet secret simply because he  _could_ ; but no, not him; yet if he could have just that one thing... "As a King—as a High King, all my relationships are sped up due to the stability of the kingdom," yes it wasn't fair, but had that not been the reason his engagement to Juno had been so swiftly announced? He didn't expect to be allowed the freedom of choosing a wife the way it had been allowed from his brother (even if his choice of Juliet had been the most surprising part of all), but oh Aslan, if he could, if he was allowed just that one thing... "and you know, better than anyone for being in the council, that eventually I do have to pick one person to spend the rest of my life with, and if I must, if I can, I just..." Please, Aslan, please... "I would like that, more than anything, to be you." He would beg, he would kneel, but the urgency and the need to keep his eyes on hers were enough to keep him standing and doing no more than holding her hands; he looked at her with the shock printed in her features, he looked at the way her eyes danced in his, the way her lips parted and closed over and over again, the way her eyes even seemed to build up with tears that never fell.

Until her silence was enough to drive him crazy and finally the fear returned completely to the nervousness of his lips, "O-of course, if you don't—if you don't  _want_  to, that's fine, we-we can go back to how we were, or…" His head shook, his heart falling all the way to his stomach again by the mere fear of her refusal brought forth by the silence and the look she continued gazing at him with; was it shock? Was it sadness? Was it joy? But if she said no, then how could they go back to the familiarity and love they had both shared regardless? "…or not? I—that's entirely up to you, and—"

"Yes."

"—and if you don't want to, then I'll—wait, what did you say?" Peter wondered; his eyes looking back at her as the little frown in the middle of his forehead deepened in a hint of the anger he would feel toward his own brain if it had imagined the very thing he had thought he'd heard.

But instead of a negation of it, a confirmation came: "I said yes, I  _will_ marry you." And finally his frown disappeared, his heart began beating wildly within his own joy once again, and the soft lift of his lips broke the fear away from his features at last. "In this, and every life time, yes," Athena continued, wiping away tears that had never even fallen and holding onto Peter slightly tighter than she had before. "Yes, Peter Pevensie, I  _will_ , I'll marry you."

She said it three times and still Peter couldn't truly believe it; not only because he had never thought he would be allowed the freedom of marrying for love, but because when he had made his way to Athena's room that night, asking for her to marry him had not even been in the list of possible things he would do, and yet there he was now, his heart full of joy, his fears satiated even if for the reassurance that he had her as much as she had him, and Athena Ashdown his fiancée at last. "Oh, I love you." He said, fully wrapping her in his arms this time and moving until his lips pressed fully against hers, and the echoes of "I love you, I love you," leaving his lips whenever he parted from her; her arms wrapped equally against him and the kisses happily reciprocated until her back crashed against one of the posts of her bed.

He hadn't even realised they had begun to move.

Still, they kissed, with words breaking the contact from her lips and sometimes from his, because the truth was that they had barely even kissed in public, yet already she was his fiancée and he simply would not have it any other way; swift toward the public as it might be were they to announce it as quickly as Edmund was expected to announce his own engagement, Peter Pevensie would not pretend to take it any slower than that; the two had loved each other for so long that waiting simply felt silly. Though, of course, with the reminder of his brother and his engagement, yet another thing interrupted his kisses with his beloved again: "I hope it's okay with you…" they kissed again, mindless of their surroundings or the little candle on the desk that had burnt away after their conversation, until they parted their lips again. "…if we keep it quiet until after Edmund's wedding." And again, they kissed, impossible as it was to stay apart now that every single barrier had been crossed, and nothing (no obstacle, no war, no political situation) could truly keep them apart. "I don't want to steal his spotlight."

The next time their kisses parted, it was Athena who spoke. "Serves him right to be kept in the dark about our engagement," her arms simply wrapped around his neck and she pulled him completely against her again; a movement that had seemed enough for him to lose his balance and therefore make them both land on her unmade bed, but still, their lips only parted when she spoke again, "For keeping his whole thing with Juliet quiet."

To that much Peter simply had to agree, and the little breathed laughter that left his lips was enough of an agreement before their lips crashed together again; after that, no more words were spoken, and instead their lips did the communicating instead. The king and The warrior had been kept apart for so long and by so many different circumstances that the moment they were finally allowed (by themselves and the world) to be together, it was simply impossible to tear them apart, and so it was that the two remained, kissing, touching, smiling, reeling in the relief of their union, and truly happy for the first time in a long time as their clothes became forgotten in a pile on the floor alongside all their worries.

Peter Pevensie and Athena Ashdown were truly together at last.

♦

Deep within the shadows of the castle's armoury, as Sir Gadef slept soundly just outside the door, a brand new cushion of gold and silver details appeared just beside the one where the High King's crown rested, and in the middle of the floor, just the way the future Just Queen's crown had been found, there rested a brand new headpiece to be discovered the next morning: a halo of gold to match the High King's, but where his was adorned by no more than the few ivy leaves that matched Edmunds and his sisters', this brand new crown held little intricate roses of ivory detail inlaid against the tainted and twisted perfect gold that depicted little leaves upon the creases and the rises of the piece; gold and white it stood with the cushion matching Peter's waiting for it to rest atop it at last, and silently it announced, while everyone else in the castle slept, that High King Peter had finally found his High Queen.


	42. Chapter 42

─ ♚ ─

It was sunny enough within that Christmas Eve morning that it didn't take a lot of effort for Juliet Capulet to choose to visit the stables where her beloved horse Isabella rested, a bunch of apples, carrots, and sugar cubes held within a little basket she carried upon the inside of her elbow as she went; the guards she so easily walked by smiled at her and she didn't even think twice about smiling back, almost completely unaware that that pretty smile of hers lit each of their hearts so fully that both female and male creatures that guarded the castle's gardens and fields understood perfectly well how she could have ignited Edmund Pevensie's heart so fully as to ask her to be his wife. What they didn't know, of course, was that she could hardly even believe it herself; yes, months had passed, a battle had been won, and she and Edmund had celebrated their engagement and spoken about it endlessly, and still, there was a part of her that simply could not wrap itself entirely around the reality that she was, indeed, truly engaged to be married; it simply did not make sense. And, of course, with everything that been going on with Archenland, the war, and the welcoming of Juno, Corin and Lark into the castle formally to live within as a home of their own, Juliet's mind had simply not had the time or the will to think of anything but the danger that had fallen upon them all before and after the battle, when all royals and nobles thought King Lune would try to retaliate regardless of how strongly his army had been defeated at Glasswater Creek.

Everything had simply happened too fast; one night, she was unexpectedly being asked to marry Edmund, and what felt like the next all hell had broken loose by the arrival of Juno and her disastrous announcement. After that, it had all simply been about getting ready, making sure her special armour fit, making sure her daggers were sharp, that Isabella was up for accompanying her into war, making sure she practiced sword-training with Athena Ashdown as many times as she could before having to go to war; and just like that, quicker that she could even think about it, they were in the middle of the battle, her crimson dress and silver armour wrapping her frame, her long braid dancing wildly with her movements, and Isabella brave and loving fighting by her side and Lucy's. And then the battle was done, and just as quickly as the happiness of Peter and Athena's well expected union had come, the wonder of Lark's arrival had taken over everyone's minds, and once again Juliet had simply not had time to think about her personal life's reality at all. She had worked on getting Lark settled, making sure his rooms were to his liking (surprisingly happily accompanied by Queen Susan, who claimed she wished to make sure the ambassador felt at home as well); she worked on the permanent arrangements of Princess Juno and Prince Corin's stay; she had simply spent every second of her time making sure the castle was well protected, well cared for, and in perfect working order for the safety of the permanent residents from Archenland. From what they were used to eating, to the little Prince's schooling, to any other thing Lark and Juno could need.

And now it was Christmas Eve, and still she had barely stopped to think of the truth that awaited her after however long it took for Susan to prepare a wedding ceremony and feast; indeed, she had celebrated their victory with everyone in the castle (including the newcomers), she had celebrated Peter and Athena's well awaited open romance with Edmund (who had wished for his brother's romantic happiness for so long that his exclamations of joy had not gone unheard upon the end of the battle within which the couple finally and fully kissed), but regardless of her now commonly known shared bed with the Just King, she simply had not given herself the freedom of truly acknowledging the very thing she had almost entirely ignored for the sake of her own worry towards the country: marriage.

Of course, it was not to say that she was regretting ever having said yes; if anything, there was nothing else in the whole world (or her existence) that she was surer of than the fact that she wanted to marry Edmund Pevensie; but there was a part of her that simply worried about the whole thing. It was her first time living through a long-time engagement, because Romeo's proposal had been so swift and expected that they had barely even waited a whole week before Friar Laurence had named them husband and wife, and she simply did not know how to feel about it; in fact, her whole romance with Romeo Montague scared her onto the expectancy of what she so happily now had, because it had been so absolutely deadly and expectant of a tragedy almost dramatic enough to match the words written by the hateful playwright that had made her name famous that she simply did not know what to expect of a true marriage with someone she loved so dearly as she did the Just King. Not to mention, it had been centuries—millennia, really—since she'd last been a wife, and though technically her previous husband still lived (technically, because, one, she simply would not call what the Lifeless did living, and two, they were called Lifeless because they had stopped living the moment they had  _accepted_  to be Lifeless at all), she still did not know if any changes were truly expected of her to appear from the moment she  _did_  become one.

She loved Edmund in a way she never thought she would even be allowed to love anyone ever again, and, hell, if she was truly honest, she even loved him more than she had ever loved Romeo in the first place; within all her experience, all her  _existence_  after she was recruited by the Protectors, she had lived with the lie that each soul could expect only one mate to match them, yet there she was: having lived enough lifetimes for generations and more in love than she had ever been even in life. Of course, logic would tell her that maybe Romeo Montague hadn't been her soul-mate at all—that maybe Edmund was—, yet her knowledge as Protector of Love also told her that he just  _had_ to have been, because, if he hadn't been, then her soul simply wouldn't have worked for Romeo to become immortal at all; if the two had not had the magic of soul-mates that had found each other cursing within them, then the ritual he had done to become immortal would have given him nothing but a murdered wife and a life of exile until death reached his heart; yet there he was, roaming the world (thankfully not  _her_ beloved magical world of Narnia) as a Lifeless brought forth by the magic given through the death of a soul-mate. So, yes, Romeo Montague  _had_ been her soul-mate, but with the same security with which she could think those words, she could also know that Edmund Pevensie was her soul-mate as well; how else would a love so forbidden as theirs had to have been—after, against all odds, crossing the line between hate and love—come to happen otherwise?

It simply wouldn't have, she didn't think; "Oh, Isabella." She told her beloved white mare by the time she stood before her, her cloak and gloves perched upon the door of the stall whilst one of her hands lifted to give the loyal mare one of the sugar cubes she had taken from the castle kitchens, well after she had asked after her well being. "Canst thou believe? I am happy." She admitted while the mare happily munched on the sugar cube and looked at her with the perfect understanding only talking creatures ever showed when being spoken to—it was, in fact, that understanding, alongside the way she had spoken to her so commonly and had been replied to by whinnies or grunts ever since her fiancée had gifted her the mare that had let Juliet know gentle Isabella had been born without vocal cords, the way some humans sometimes were, but still remained as much a talking creature as any she had met before. "And it terrifies me so, I confess." She continued to the mare that looked curious in her direction. "For the last time happiness came into mine heart I was but a young naïve girl who so easily was fooled and hath happiness stolen from her like a doll from a newborn child, and now that I am here, I fear, oh love, I do, that something alike will come to be; that my beloved Edmund  _will_ come to realise his mistake, that he will wish for that which I cannot give him, and thereafter hatred will fall onto his heart carved to match my name upon it, and—"

Isabella whinnied, one of her front paws hit against the ground, and her head simply shook; it was enough to let the protector know the mare simply did not agree with her at all. It made Juliet smile as she reached into her basket once again to offer her beloved friend an apple, "Oh thou art kind, my dearest friend, for thinking thus and comforting me when I nay'r came here for such a thing." As the mare munched on the apple, her eyes narrowed in Juliet's direction and her front paw hit against the ground again; a sign the girl had come to understand as a mute's version of sarcasm that simply refused to be ignored: so she didn't agree with the way Juliet had easily waved off her disagreement; an apologetic laugh left the immortal's lips. "Aye, forgive me, then, I beg. Thou couldst well be right, but thou must understand my wariness, indeed: I know not much of love as an experience to think it anything but fickle, even with mine ever belief that there be naught a thing that matters more than that, and my love for the young King remains so strong that it doth hurt my heart at times and therefore scares me, for, I confess oh dearest Isabella, that the love I felt before when I was but a teenage girl doth ne'er compare to the one I feel now; oh, no, it cannot.

Before, my heart did hurt, and I couldst ne'er imagine a life without my Romeo, not one that did not bury me whole within the blanket of sorrow that would fall upon me like the very dirt that did mark my tomb eventually, but now…" Her head shook, and even as a hand lifted to offer another apple to her beloved friend (and quickly changed to a sugar cube when she motioned with her nose toward the right of the basket where the little bowl of cubes remained) a heavy sigh fell from her lips. "Now I feel alike I have been blind my whole life and the brightness of the sun doth shine upon me for the first time; aye, I  _have_  been blind, and Edmund bethe sun within my heart, and I fear such brightness will leave once again, abandoning me, wrapping me with a cloth of darkness that will ne'er after be broken. Mine heart, it is his the way it has ne'er been anyone's before; he doth hold it upon the palm of his hand so securely that all he would have to do is make a fist and therefore crush it if he so willed it; I am his, as I have been for longer than mine mind was ready to see, and I fear, now more than the one I e'er held of being pulled away from this world, that I will wake one day and the hope of mine own love will be stolen from me by the harshness of time and the battle none have won against it.

Aye, my love doth swearest his heart beats to the same tune as mine own, by or own love, he swearest that his wishes will ne'er change and mine love be enough to hold his happiness in place for the rest of our lives together, yet canst thou blame me for doubting? I trusted a promise once, and therefore I am fearing ever so that such a vow will sway after a few years of this marriage and I will find he liveth a life of resentment and regret in pair to my name. And what, oh Issie, will I do if I am nay'r a good wife then, if I am hated? Me, who ne'er had the opportunity to truly  _be_  a wife in anything but the act of love so long already given to my beloved King? Nay, my friend, I can so tell thee with mine heart in my hand, come there only shortly from his hold upon it, that I will ne'er regret accepting to be his wife, but what of him? Oh, what of his own regret; what of his own mind? Should I so trap him in a marriage such as that without knowing of his security first? Would that I could know the future to fear nothing at all, that the world would wrap its security of a coming summer into mine mind and I could be as sure as the sun is of its warmth melting the snow outside this stable come spring; that I could as sure as he seems to be that my beloved Edmund would not hate me after long; oh, I would pray; nay, I already do, I pray that his security holds true, that—"

"Pray no more, then, because I  _am_ sure." Came the familiar echo of the Just King's voice from just behind her, making Juliet's words stop so quickly almost alongside her heart, so shaken by the unexpected sound, and her frame turn so wildly that at least one of the apples left within her basket flew away from its confines onto the hay under her feet; "Surer than I've been of anything else for a long time, actually."

God, even Juliet's free hand lifted to rest just above the square neckline of her dress, as if the mere movement could make her wildly beating heart stop or relax while a smiling Isabella moved to eat the apple fallen so close by her hooves. "Dearest love, thou speakest without a warning word, how long hast thou stood there silent as mine confidence to Isabella prayed to be unheard?" At least then she turned to look at the happily eating mare.

It didn't take long for her to look back at her fiancée, much less for him to speak through the smile upon his lips, "Long enough to listen to half of your soliloquy and be able to assure you that you're wrong." He admitted as his steps took him closer to the stall Juliet and Isabella stood in; even going as far as to lifting a hand in the mare's direction to match the apology in his eyes. "No offence meant, Isabella; I know you were listening, but you've got to agree, even if you  _could_  talk she would doubtfully let you get a word in."

The mare grunted in snarky agreement alongside the smile she showed; still: "Soliloquy?" Juliet echoed, ignoring the way her mare and fiancée so easily ganged up against her, and finally placing the basket atop one of the mounts of hay surrounding the stall, refusing to look away from the youngest king whilst a little frown settled in the middle of her forehead. "Oh, speak not of that man's work, I pray." Even her hand waved the idea away, her head shook, and she moved to pick up the brush she needed to tend to her mare's mane; "Beloved as he is, he is a liar, and I wouldst rather not have anything I do be compared to him or what he's done." Behind her, Edmund's breathed amusement sounded clearly alongside a whinny from the white mare, and all Juliet could do against it was roll her eyes and turn around so she could face him and the mare at once. "Regardless of that," stern as she was, she managed to do nothing more than widen the King's smile by the time she began brushing Isabella's mane. "I still blush to think at all thou must have heard today."

Smiling, Edmund found comfort sitting down close to mare and Juliet atop the mounts of hay beside the little basket nearly empty of food. "Maybe," he mused as he found comfort within the warmth of the stable; he hadn't even taken off his cloak (he so loathed the cold that he would rather not even feel a speck of it). "But I don't regret having heard a bit of it."

At that, Juliet released a soft scoffed breath; "Because thou doth so swearest thou knowest thy own mind." She didn't look away from her work as she so softly continued to brush Isabella's mane.

"Yes, I  _really_  do." Edmund insisted; Juliet could feel his eyes perfectly on her, and only because of such a thing did her gaze finally shift to meet his. "And I  _truly_  wish you would believe me," he admitted with the soft hope bright within the brown of his eyes; almost as if he begged her to believe, "If I hadn't heard all the things you said just now I would think you don't actually want to marry me, but…" His head shook, a soft breath releasing from his nose as his lips pressed together for a moment, "I'm  _not_  Romeo, Juliet," he continued. "I'm me, your Edmund; I have betrayed once, and believe me, I don't plan on ever doing it again. I do love you, as much as you seem to love me judging from what I heard; and, trust me, I would put it in prose and poetry if I had the skill you have for such a thing, but I don't. All I can do is assure you: I  _am_ sure; I love you, and because of it I would rather spend my life, childless, with you, than with some other princess or duchess that could give me a hundred sons; because I don't care about that, and—no, don't interrupt me, because I know what you're going to say." Indeed, Juliet had stopped brushing Isabella, her eyes had remained on him, and her lips had begun to part; because of it, one of Edmund's hands had lifted to stop her, and because of such a motion it wasn't until then that she realised that his other hand held a small box wrapped with a little crimson bow. Since she couldn't speak to wonder upon what it was, she simply looked at him again. "You're going to say I'm too young to know what I might wish for in the future, but you just don't understand; I  _might_ be only eighteen, but I have lived through enough to be able to know my own mind.

I suffered—you know how much I suffered—, I betrayed, and because of it I never even thought I deserved love like the one you've given me, yet I accept it because I love you just as much. You know it better than anyone because you saw it with your own eyes: I  _was_  a bitter child, even after Aslan's forgiveness, because I couldn't forgive myself; I tortured myself night after night thinking of ways to make up for what I did, blaming myself for all that went wrong even after the Witch's defeat, cursing my own name for bringing more sorrow onto the Narnians than they had already lived through, and because of it all I never even imagined I would  _ever_ love or be loved like this; I blamed myself and doubted everything because I simply couldn't believe I deserved it, and…" his head shook, his eyes fell to the little box he now held with both hands, and a frown found home in between his brows. "…sometimes I still don't." The confession alone made Juliet's heart hurt because she hadn't known; yes, she had seen him, waking from nightmares more times than she dared count, tortured by his past within a frozen cage, but awake he seemed less troubled than he had been even before his fourteenth birthday; he seemed secure, he seemed confident, he seemed all the way the King that the world loved him to be, and yet… "But it is because of all of that… I don't know, suffering, or whatever you want to call it,"—he called it 'well deserved punishment' but that much he wouldn't admit out loud—"that I  _can_  be sure I will not ever change my mind, because you  _are_ more than enough; you're more than I ever thought I would even deserve, and I love you, Juliet. I do, I love you… so much." His eyes lifted to look at her again. "I know I don't say it enough, even after I proposed, but I do. I… shit, you're exactly what you said I am to you, and more, truly, so please, believe me. You  _are_ enough, and I  _am_ sure that it's you I want, because out of all of this blame and doubt I have, you are the only true… I don't know, light? The only thing that makes sense? I don't know how to word it. I just know that with you I feel good, I feel happy, which is more than I can say I've ever felt since I became King. Hell, you make me feel like I  _do_ deserve the crown, and everyone's forgiveness, and… while I may not be able to entirely forgive myself yet, I do try, and for now that's enough. I mean, you're sort of, like… I don't know; a shelter from the constant storm of doubt that goes on inside my head? I honestly don't know how to make it clear, I don't have your skill with words or poetry, Aslan knows, but I just want you to believe me, that's all; and, I mean, of course I don't set my whole sanity on you, that'd be ridiculous, but you help so much, so I know, better than I've known anything since I discovered I was attracted to you, that I won't hate you, ever. Because all I care about is that I am even  _allowed_  to have you by my side for the rest of my life, and that's more than enough; which… I guess I'm repeating over and over, but it's true, I just want you to believe me."

Even Isabella watched the King as silently as Juliet did; though the mare did not share the single silent tears that had moved to adorn the immortal's cheeks. His words… they were more than she had ever heard him speak about any sort of emotion onto himself, much more so about his love onto her, and because of it she simply could do no more than release the breath she hadn't even realised she had been holding and lift her free hand to wipe away the tears that had fallen; after all, she had already known how truly tortured the young King was, with his constant dislike of cold, his doubt of any stranger, and the truth of every single torture he had confessed the White Witch had set against him… but never before had he spoken about the torture he put himself through for the blame of his own faults. Confident as he appeared, playful even with the nobles, sure within his post as Head of Justice… she simply never would have thought Edmund Pevensie doubted himself so much; thus, she simply moved, setting Isabella's brush beside the forgotten basket of food and kneeling before her fiancée at once, enough so that her eyes were level with his for a moment, and her arms could wrap around him immediately and fully the next. "I believe you." She told him within her embrace, welcoming the feeling of his arms around her as her hold on him tightened and the tips of her fingers threaded in the dark locks of his hair; she didn't care that hay tangled within the silk of the outer layer of her dress, not that a soft whinny of absolute adoration fell from Isabella's mouth as her hooves happily hit against the floor (after all, she had been a gift from Edmund to Juliet within their first months of courting, and thus the gentle mare had been witness to most of their love almost from the start); all she cared about was her beloved King, her fiancée, and all the words he had spoken. "Aye, I believe you, and I beg thee, forgive me for not doing so before."

A soft smiling breath crashed against her neck from the young King's lips, and soon after his head shook too, "It's okay, you didn't know." Even his hand moved softly upon her back, and the little edge of the box he held on the other poked at her spine shortly.

At the moment, though, she didn't care much about the box, only about the true realisation of his love towards her and the security he so professed; in fact it was such that made her pull away from the embrace and look directly into his eyes. "Indeed, but now I am happier to focus only on the joy the thought of marrying thee doth bring me." And barely two seconds later, when the agreement of his smile met her, she leaned forward to press a gentle kiss upon his lips.

To her surprise, though, after a few seconds of their lips' union, the Just King said a single "Mm," against her kiss and moved to pull away from her with the light of relief and joy printed upon his features one more time. "Which reminds me; two things I've got to tell you," even his arms fell away from her only slightly as those familiar chocolate eyes of his focused on her own; he licked his lips, and spoke again. "One: Susan told me to tell you that she's expecting your guest list before the end of the year, and that the royal tailor is perfectly ready to meet with you to start planning the dress details now that the war is over, so…" His brows raised, half teasing, half serious even to match the sly smile upon his lips. "If I were you, I'd hurry with both things unless you want a Gentle Queen trailing behind you and pressuring you for all of that."

Juliet's lips shortly parted to release the soft dissatisfaction of a breath brought forth by his words; after all, her previous wedding had been so completely unplanned and private that her dress had been one of her mass dresses of the time, her witness and only guest had been her Nurse, and absolutely no other sort of planning had had to be done; so planning, as much as the long-term engagement she thus lived with Edmund Pevensie, was something entirely new to her. "Aye, and what have  _you_  to do while I receive all this attention I am not used to receiving?"

Not that her Lady Mother hadn't tried to make her plan for a wedding with Count Paris, but upon her own attitude toward the Count she had gotten away with getting her parents to postpone any wedding planning until she came of better age. "Well, I have to work with Peter on the creation of our wedding rings, since he's my best man and all of that, and I  _also_  have to meet with the tailor, apparently." Her so dearly beloved fiancée announced; rolling his eyes for a discomfort to match hers on the extra amount of attention the two had simply not received before.

For the sake of making the situation lighter, young Juliet feigned a shocked expression; with a soft gasp escaping from parted lips, and her eyebrows lifting high enough to almost even seem adorable upon her. "Must thou wear a dress as well?" By then she had even sat back on her own legs, looking up at Edmund with the full adoration and love she now focused plainly on.

Of course, the King's eyes rolled again. "Har, har." He told her, allowing his hand to fall away from her shoulder onto one of her hands simply to prompt her to sit by his side on the mount of hay; Isabella had found means of raiding the little basket of food for the time being. "No, but I can't just wear my armour to our wedding, can I?"

"Oh, I fail to see why not," the girl admitted as she dusted off her skirts and sat comfortably by Edmund's side, smiling wholeheartedly and refusing to look away from him, "After all, thou look'st rather handsome in thy armour, if I might be frank."

To that, at least, Edmund laughed. "You may, yes, thank you," His head shook within his short amusement and the bashfulness with which he accepted the compliment; still, he looked at her again. "But unfortunately the nobility expects more than just my common battle armour for the occasion." He admitted, "Since ours will be the first royal wedding in more than a century, there are some things that will be expected of us… I'm sorry."

He apologised because the expression in Juliet's features was one of almost horror and worry; but the concern quickly shifted to surprise and even a speck of joy as her head shook shortly. "Nay, thy apology is uncalled for; I am scared of what might be expected of me, I admit, for I could prove to be bad at all of it, but…" A long breath went inhaled deeply enough that it even made her sit straighter, but soon after it was exhaled, and the softness of the smile upon her lips became more genuine. "I would be lying if I did not confess I am also quite excited about all of it; I've never  _planned_ a wedding, truly, much less been part of one so…" she gulped, "So publically known and accepted, and… well, I  _am_ nervous, truly so."

A comforting hand held onto hers as its owner nodded the understanding he also wholly shared, "It's completely new for me too," Edmund thus confessed, frowning shortly regardless of the small lift of his lips. "I was at a relation's wedding once, a lifetime ago, but… well," the breath he released matched the shakiness of Juliet's own. "Apparently having  _been_ to a wedding, or you having been part of one before, will help us in nothing at all, since Narnian weddings are entirely different from whatever we might have seen back in… that other place, whatever it was called."

How could she forget Earth at all? She would if she could, truly, to live absolutely no other life than the one she had in Narnia, but alas… her vows to the Protectors would not free her from such memories at all, not the way they seemed to leave the Kings and Queens; but, at least at that moment, memories were the least of her worries. "Different?" She echoed with the concern so easily returning onto the tone of her words. "In what way?"

Edmund's head shook, "Well, for one, the best man helps the groom in the creation of the wedding wings, which is the only thing I know of the differences so far since I've already had to talk it out with Peter, but Susan  _did_  tell me we'd have Lord Peridan to talk us through the rest, which she says is a  _lot_ , so we have that to look forward to." Even the sarcasm fell from his last words easily alike the snow fell heavy outside, and Juliet could do no more than agree with the very dread evident in the young King's features.

Yes, she was perfectly happy to know she would spend her life with Edmund Pevensie, but the ritual that awaited them… "And elopement is definitely out of the question?" Even the excitement of a planned wedding felt more nerve-wracking when the idea of what was expected of them both was promised to be completely unknown.

"If we want to stay in the realm's good graces, and more importantly, my sister's, yeah, it's unfortunately  _very_  out of the question." The King admitted with an expression to match hers alongside the note of her own feigned sorrow at the idea of having to go through much more than she had been mentally prepared for. And, well, who could blame the unfortunate impossibility when Edmund and Juliet's wedding would be the  _first_ within the Pevensies' reign?

Surely she would find a way to be excited about all of it once the nervousness passed; still, at that moment, the agitation simply refused to leave her heart, and thus so made her wish to think of something else entirely until she had to face the very things he spoke of. For it, the ease of another branch of the conversation came welcome into her mind: "There was a second thing thou did wish to tell me?"

Clearly Edmund was as happy to change subjects as she was, for he evidently relaxed at her side, smiled again, and gently nodded, "Yes, I did. Though it's more something I wanted to  _give_  you," Only until then did Juliet even remember the little box she had noticed him carrying around; both their gazes fell to it and even Isabella's attention became peaked as the hand that held the little box lifted at last, offering it to the curious girl at once. "Merry Christmas," he said, finally looking into her eyes with a grin to match his intentions; when Juliet's lips parted as her fingers took the little box, Edmund simply spoke again. "I know Christmas is technically tomorrow, and I have other presents for you, but I wanted to give this one to you privately; sort of, you know… properly, the way it  _should_ have been if I'd had the guts to do it on my own instead of because I was pressured by Aslan or my brother."

The curiosity and confusion that covered Juliet's features evaporated the moment the little bow became untied from the box and she was able to open it; because within it rested a gentle cloud of silk that held the most delicate halo of silver upon it. It was a ring, a beautiful intricately made silver ring that bloomed like a flower upon its centre to hold the most delicate ruby, flanked by the detailed leaves of its stem at both sides, as if a silver flower had bloomed naturally with its stem split in two and the result was the ring resting so softly upon the silk inside the box.

For once, Juliet Capulet was left completely speechless.

"It… uh… it matches the crown that will be yours a couple of days after the wedding… on your coronation." Edmund softly admitted, his eyes nervously shifting from the box in her hands to the expression on her face, his heart beating wildly within his chest. "I—Peter showed me the crown, and I just thought—well, since the crown appearing in the treasury was the reason the pressure came and I finally got the guts to propose to you, I thought it'd be nice to make homage to that on the engagement ring I never had time to even think of. I mean, I don't even know if engagement rings are a thing here in Narnia, but Peter sort of spoke to me about them? So I thought it would be… um, nice?"

The mention of her coronation should have been enough to shake her from the silence she held, but even the unexpected rise to royalty she had never even wished for went ignored as the delicate pads of her fingers reached within to hold the silver ring in her hand. "Do you, uh…" It was only the shaken voice of the nervous King that finally made her amber eyes lift from the beauty of the ring to look at him; he was gulping down his nerves by the time she did meet his gaze. "Do you want me to kneel?"

At least the adoration she held for him finally made the smile that had begun to form upon her lips grow even as her head shortly shook, "If things be different within this world, then I would have them no other way," that much, at least, she was sure of, even if the idea of the other differences expected within their wedding brought nerves to rest deep within her heart. "I accepted thee already, as I would were you to ask me a thousand times more; and this ring will only prove it to the world, thus nay, do not what thou wish'th not, for I am content to have thee as thou art."

And clearly those words were perfectly enough, for Edmund not only relaxed beside her, but also smiled, and without being able to help it, he moved to kiss her again; the little box was forgotten upon her lap as her arms wrapped around him, not letting go of the ring as she did. They kissed softly, fully, and lovingly, and eventually their kiss faded and turned into an embrace of as much love as gratefulness and understanding between the two; but it wasn't until Isabella grunted and hit her hooves on the floor that the two even parted with wide smiles upon their lips, and finally, doing exactly what he had wished to do from the moment the idea of an engagement ring slipped into his mind, Edmund took the ring from her hold so he could gently take her hand and slide the ring in place, fitting perfectly, and matching the gentleness of who she was wonderfully enough for it to look like the ring had been hers forever.

And so, with a war over, and the peace of the castle so accepted within that Christmas Eve, Edmund and Juliet could focus only on their engagement at last.


	43. Chapter 43

─ ♚ ─

The air was much lighter than it had been during the winter, slowly proving the passing of time and the promise of the coming spring; it was in such a weather, covered with plenty of layers, and walking as confident as her title begged her to be, that Athena Ashdown walked the streets of the little town of Pevenway (also commonly nicknamed Grand Paravel simply for its certain proximity to the castle and the fact that it was big enough to hold at least five castles of the same size of the one where the royals lived). The town surrounded the great castle from north and west, leaving the eastern waters of the ocean perfectly unoccupied and the southern woods completely claimed by the dryads protectors of their trees; upon the very centre of the town was the square, where many different shops were housed and where all holidays (such as the Christmas festival, the anniversary of Narnia's salvation, Queen Helen's Day and each of the royals' birthdays) were celebrated with fires, dancing and the royals themselves joining as much as they wanted to join; there were trees who lived there welcome, little houses and dens for the animals who had found safety within the town alongside the great concoctions for the centaurs to reside, but the shops, endless as they seemed, occupied most of the main square itself.

They adorned each corner of the many streets created merely by so many steps taken, as it had come to end up becoming from the moment the Pevensies had been crowned within the castle at the edge of the village; from fruits, to vegetables, to little artistic decorations made by a talented beaver or creations made of wood simply for the continuous pecking of the beautiful speaking woodpeckers of the west, all the way to the very necessary appliances or pieces of furniture needed by other humans that travelled (or escaped) from Calormen, Archenland, or Ettinsmoor as well; it was all a sight to be seen, and one that perhaps any who lived in the village or in the castle could grow used to quite easily; but still, no matter how much time passed, Athena Ashdown could simply not be one of those people at all. The seasons could pass endlessly around her, time could make her older than the thirteen-year old girl Peridan had found resting on the grass that autumn day, and still, the green eyed warrior could not ever stop being simply impressed by the ease with which the talking creatures found means of being so… well, human.

Not that she would say it aloud, of course; perhaps not everyone would understand what she meant when she thought the word human and she would rather not offend anyone if that was possible at all; but still, as she walked past the many alleys and shops along Pevenway Square, the great general admired the working hand of a squirrel that used its quick movements to peal many nuts to sell roasted to any who wished to buy them, or the beautiful Mrs. Beaver, one of the many old friends of the Kings and Queens, who had opened up a tailoring shop for any humans or creatures that so decided they wished to be clothed by her (she had humbly refused the offer to become the royal tailor, claiming she did not only think her hand unworthy to tailor for royalty, but that having to spend so much time away from Mr. Beaver would surely end with him dead from having no one to take care of him). Of course the General greeted all those who acknowledged her, and waved to those she recognised the moment they met her wondering gaze—wondering only for that constant wary mind of hers that begged to make note of every corner and strange face that she passed to make sure that no danger would come unannounced toward the castle—, but her main focus as she went was the much darker and less populated edge south of the square that housed the shops most dedicated to all warriors and soldiers of Cair Paravel, such as the armour tailors, smithies and mineral and stone shops (the ones who provided the whetstones to tend to swords personally for those who wished it), of which personal focus for Athena was the smithy herself, in order to pick up her favourite sword from being sharpened the way she liked it.

It was sure to be known that Peter Pevensie, the High King of Narnia, had told her endlessly that she could very well make use of the private royal smithy within the castle due to the fact that she was not only a soldier, but a General, and—known only to the two involved, of course, but it didn't stop the King from reminding her—the future High Queen of Narnia when their engagement did finally become public and the two married alike, but as evident as it could be by her heading in the much private direction of the town smithy, of course Athena had simply refused the offer immediately; it was true, she was the General of the Narnian militia, and she was engaged to Peter, thus (as much as Juliet was the future Just Queen) she would eventually come to be known as Athena Pevensie, the High Queen of Narnia, but until she could actually claim such a title (not that the simple idea didn't make her nervous in the first place) she did not at all feel like she had the right of claiming any privileges that she never even would think she deserved were anyone to ask her at all. No, indeed, even her being called  _my Lady_  once in a while by other nobles and non-nobles left her baffled enough to have to force her own body to not give away her own thoughts and therefore swallow her intents of trying to say  _I'm not a Lady_  every time she was called so because she had to remind herself that she was  _not only_  a Lady but a bloody Marchioness, and thus most definitely had to be called with such titles whenever anyone addressed her; so having to even acknowledge she'd be called High Queen after her marriage to Peter made her nervous enough to know she did not need any more self-given guilt going into her mind by accepting the privilege of giving her sword to be sharpened by the royal smithy.

It was enough that she already held so many titles and had accepted the wonderful gift of the gold and silver armour given to her by the High King all those moths before (one made by the royal bloody tailor as it was), she simply did not need to feel any more inadequate by also taking advantage of her private position by the High King's side and making use of the royal smithy for the sharpening of her sword; thus her much louder steps echoing in the less populated side of the village she walked on.

That side of the town was much quieter, less colourful than the rest for the few war-like things sold within it; where the main square was full of colours, shades, trinkets and a lot of sound, the side where the smithy had taken up shop was dimmer, barren of colours other than those from the metals worked, or the fabrics woven onto the armours needed for Cair Paravel (which were red and gold), and quiet enough to sound like a busy street in the middle of the night, which was to say that there was sound, but someone did not have to raise their voice louder than the socially acceptable tone to have someone else hear the words of a normal conversation. The unfortunate part about such a privacy came in the form of the ease with which one would become a target for any sort of crime viable within the alleys and streets of Pevenway; of course, perhaps any other day Athena simply would not have thought of such a thing, lest her own mind become tainted by the sort of negativity she tried to stay away from even within her wary approach and attention to everything around her, but upon that day there was absolutely nothing else she could think of for the very evidence that brought the musing up to the front of her mind almost as quickly as she had been snatched away from walking.

It so was that at one moment she had been walking familiarly down the street, looking at the brand new designs of armour on display just a corner away from the smithy, and the next she couldn't even speak, barely even breathe, when a heavy hand fell upon her lips and her arms became completely trapped by the surprisingly strong hold of the stranger that so easily pulled her towards the nearest dark alley that stood between two high buildings housing plenty of working dwarves' apartments. "Shh, shh, shh…" The voice said; pulling her deeper into the alley as if she were a doll made of hey even as she tried to fix her footing so she could push against the stranger who so easily instead pushed her toward the nearest wall. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you not to scream, do you?" The voice said almost like a whisper behind her; she could feel his chest against her back, his breath heavy upon her neck as it made a couple of locks of loose hair move with the air of his speech. "It's not like your lover is here to rescue you, is he?" The voice was so taunting, so wrong, that it made her feel sick, "How's it going, by the way, your little fling with the King?" She hated the bearer of such a voice immediately, but still, it didn't make her want to scream even by the time the hand that was sure to have left at least  _one_ mark fell away from her lips; sure, she could have screamed regardless of his warning, nothing stopped her from it the second her lips were free to move, but if she did there were more things that could go wrong than right. Whether she was in the warrior section of the village, the smithy at the turn of the corner was no swordsman, nor were most of the other people in the street that had been entirely too far from her to have noticed something had gone awry; thus she simply remained silent, thinking of all the ways she could get out of her situation, and feeling that heavy heart of hers crashing continuously and wildly within her chest. It seemed her silence was amusing for the man behind her, for the breath of his amused scoff crashed against her neck in such a way that it made the hairs at its back rise in revulsion, "Well, you've changed." He said, and it only made her trapped hands turn into fists that begged to be freed so she could force a punch onto his jaw.

Instead, all she could do was try to escape, find herself completely trapped against the wall and his hold, and spit a couple of words onto the stone against her cheek: "You don't know me," it didn't feel like enough, but against his hold, against the single terror breaking in her mind so deeply that it only angered her even more, there was nothing else she could say.

That hateful amused scoff of a breath came again, and she could almost feel the way his chest moved up and down with the chuckling he released after, "yes, darling, I really do." Why did his voice sound so bloody familiar?

"Do tell," she encouraged with the venom of her sarcasm as she tried moving away once again, but still by that point she couldn't even move her feet, for he had blocked them with his, and any single movement of hers only seemed to bring him all the closer.

So she simply stopped moving entirely, "Mm, where to start?" The soft breath came again against her ear, "You've got freckles on your left arm in the shape of a constellation you said you can see in your home country, lovely, if you ask me," Athena's heart simply beat harshly against her ribcage, and she could even hear it upon the depths of her ears, "There's a battle scar on your right shoulder blade that reaches down to your waist, and another one that goes from your ankle to your thigh on your left leg, both pretty reminders of the long time we  _all_ thought you dead; your eyes are a mix of green and gold, yet you say they're just plain old green because 'you're not special'; you can dance the Narnian waltz  _flawlessly,_  and—"

"—got all that from invading the Narnian records of the castle, buddy?" She interrupted him when she simply had enough of hearing the soft whispers of his voice; and what was worse, the continuous annoying inkling within her heart that, even as a whisper, she knew that voice from somewhere else, made her feel all the worse upon her inability to even move.

If only she had her sword.

The hateful frame holding her against the wall found means to laugh again, "The General's not impressed," only then did the voice shift onto a murmur to match the soft chuckle that echoed deep within his throat, the way Athena had only ever heard one other person laugh. "Fine, what about something more personal, then? Something you told me and only me…" Oh, god, if she was right, if he was here, if he was the one trapping her... "You came to Narnia on the sixth of September 1940, in what you call 'earth time', and… you  _think_ you died there, in a car crash, which is the reason you think you ended up here. And… you may only  _think_ you died, but you  _know_ for certain that your younger sister  _did_ die because, in fact, you watched her dying; she was the reason you even decided to join the army in the first place, because  _she_  wanted to join it when she grew up, and you wanted to make her proud." She felt sick; now more than she had even before as a lump formed deep in the middle of her throat, not only for the horrible and terrifying confirmation of the voice that spoke so softly against her ear in a note enough for her to know who he was even before he tainted her truths with it, but  _because_ of the things he said. "Her name was Thalia," Her eyes shut tightly, begging to trap the tears that wished to escape at the mention of her name the way he trapped her hands and body so strongly against the stone wall, "she was eight."

She had not even wanted to scream the moment she had been trapped in the first place, but now… oh, now she did. "How dare you." She said instead, in a note so broken and threatening that it sounded, in its silence, even louder than any scream she could have released; she wouldn't cry, no matter how much she wished to, no matter how the mention of Thalia's name brought such images within her mind that truly made it almost impossible to keep the tears back.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction; not when he so easily laughed already against her ear, "Now you know who I am, don't you? How well I know you…"

For the first time since she had given up trying to escape, she moved against his hold again, and all it did was make him hold her tighter against him, against the wall; god, he made her feel so sick, "Go to hell," she began with the same venom that had lit her sarcasm before, but now it was only anger and hatred that remained. "I came to you when no one else would listen; I told you those things… and you used me to get to Peter and Edmund." She would spit if she knew it would actually fall on him, but knowing it would not, she swallowed down the bile and let all the loathsome emotions within her light her words instead: "How  _dare_ you come back after all you've done to us, to the Kings and Queens, to  _Juliet_ …  _how dare you say her name_."

"I  _did_  hear that poor excuse for a children's tale died tragically in her queen's arms," he hatefully retorted as his hands moved easily to finally rest harshly against her wrists. "But I did also hear her wedding to the youngest King will be in a few months, so I'm sure she managed to resuscitate if she died the way you said. Good for her, isn't it? But she doesn't matter, mm-hmm." His head shook, and she could feel it so close against her, "No, what matters is that I  _have_ said her name," it was obvious, even without the near inexistent pause between the two different subjects, that all thoughts of Juliet Capulet had escaped his mind the way they had escaped hers before; the future Queen was not the  _her_ they both spoke about anymore. "So now you can say  _mine_."

Oh, she hated him; she hated him for returning, hated him for what he had done, hated him so much that she even attempted to forbid herself from truly hating him because he was unworthy of such a strong emotion; but still, with the venom spilling from the single word, she said: "Lune." Ever a curse word if there was one.

But it seemed to be enough for him, for just as swiftly as he had pressed her against the wall, he pulled her away from it and moved her harshly enough to hurt and almost even take her breath away when he pushed her back against it; only, this time, it was her back that crashed against the stone and not her chest, making her face him fully enough to feel even more sick by the time she was able to  _see_  the horrible smile she had been able to hear against his lips before. "Oh, I do love the way you say my name." His hands held her wrists against the stone, and for the first time since the ball where Peter renounced to Juno's hand, Athena truly saw King Lune of Archenland.

He was dressed all in black, the way his assassins had been what felt like a lifetime prior, with fabrics that would not befit a King at all and therefore did not surprise her to have allowed him to be able to walk past the guards at the edge of Pevenway; but it was his eyes that simply did not seem right. Once, those eyes had seemed like a salvation, a soft gentleness for she who so welcomed the friendship she had wished, but now… now they seemed absolutely wrong, tired, dilated, bloodshot; they seemed crazy enough to bring all the horrors Juno Laelia had spoken to her about from before the war had broken; what the hell had happened to him? "Let me go and I won't tell Peter you're here." She said; harsh as she had been from the beginning and even forcing herself not to fight against his hold.

But what she saw on those eyes mirrored the response she got: the King laughed, and his hold on her only tightened enough for her to truly be surprised at the strength he held. "You truly are in denial, aren't you?" He mused when he looked at her again. "Oh, you  _just_ can't see; of course you can't see; they've blinded you."

At least, to that, it was Athena's turn to scoff out the sardonic amusement of a breath; "Oh, I can see _very_  clearly." Even her lips twisted with the very truth she thereafter expelled: "I know a coward when I see one, and that is  _all_ that I can see in front of me; it's all I will  _ever_ see in you." Indeed, for only cowards would send others to do his own dirty work, only cowards would come in the middle of an otherwise peaceful village and hide by the shadows of the alleyways, only a coward would hold a warrior hostage instead of fighting against her with a sword.

By the good of Aslan, she simply watched as the clear sorrow of disappointment crossed the King's features, but even that seemed to be tainted by the insanity written in his deep brown eyes, "Maybe I  _am_  a coward," he began sickeningly enough to make Athena want to look away; but she would plainly not give him such a satisfaction. "But you love me…" he nodded, so convincingly that anyone else might have even believed him, "and I love you."

Finally, with the proximity of his hold and the way he kept her trapped even face to face, the great warrior allowed herself to do as she had wished moments before and expel the very disgust his words brought within her by a single spit across his face, "Not even in your wildest dreams." Oh, she wanted her sword; she wanted to end the whole idiocy of Archenland and King Lune by the final echo of her sword entering his belly, she wanted him to get on his knees, pay for all he had put Narnia and her friends through.

Instead, all she could do was watch as a single hand shifted hers so he could hold both of hers in one and lift the other to remove the wetness of her saliva from his face, "No matter," he told her as if bewitched, so solemnly that it made the hairs at the back of her neck stand once again; and her sword was only a corner away from where she was at that moment, waiting for her at the smithy's shop. "Not all marriages are based on love, so my offer still stands." His eyes finally shifted to look back into hers, and the short hope she found within them only made her harden her own stance, "Marry me." Even his hold tightened on her arms, and she could almost feel his nails digging into her flesh.

She would spit at him again if she thought it would do anything; instead, she simply and strongly said: "No."

The sort of hold he quickly shifted to press against her chest with an arm and thus made her back crash almost breathtakingly against the wall again made the hold he had had upon her before seem like a soft caress, "Do it, Athena, or you will come to regret it."

It was hard to breath against the pressure of his arm, but still, she spoke: "I will  _never_ … marry you."

Whether it was the frustration against the words she spoke, or the insanity that drove him to it, the arm that had been holding her tightly against the wall moved away from her chest so his hand could form a fist and strongly punch against the wall just at the side of her head, "DAMN YOU!" he exclaimed loudly enough for her to think that maybe some of the dwarves living in one of the buildings that created the alley they stood in might have heard it; and yes, she had thought to take advantage of his easy means of letting her go, but a single movement made both his hands fall upon her arms not even a second after she had shifted towards the street, making her movement seem more like a flinch than a means of escape; and just like before, as strongly as then, he held her arms painfully against the wall, making her back crash against it once again. "Oh, no, no, no; you won't get away that easily, you treacherous witch. No, no; if you won't marry me," he continued closely and only inches away from her face, "then Narnia will suffer in your stead," he paused. "I will send another attack, and this time you—"

"You can't afford another attack," The General interrupted without daring to look away from his eyes; yes, she looked directly, strongly, showing the very anger driven forth by the venom tainting her every word, as she did.

If he wanted her to be afraid, he'd have to try much harder than that; not even the little disgusting smirk that lifted a corner of his lips would work. "I can now," he taunted in a note she once would have thought to be gentle. "I have Calormen entirely on my side."

Athena tried to move away from him again, angry and silently horrified, but just like before, all it did was make his hold tighten upon her arms enough that she could swear his nails were digging deep into her skin again; "You wouldn't dare." She threatened, staying still once again and letting her eyes to do all the talking for her: there was fire there, only fire from the very hatred she carried to his name.

Anger that only sparked brighter by the annoying echo of that amused half breath half laugh, "Oh, I could, my love. For if you refuse to marry me, than I have no reason to stop me." He even leaned closer, and the insanity within his eyes became all the clearer as the twisted attempt of sympathy shifted the King's features at once to accompany the softness of the words he spoke, "So do right by your country, will you?" His breath crashed against her lips softly enough to make her finally want to scream again. "Call off your engagement to Peter, and marry  _me_."

For once, she had looked away, simply because his lips had been so close to hers and she would not stand a kiss by him, and thus the end of his words crashed against her ear as horribly as they had when she had been facing the wall; but his words made her commit the very first mistake of their encounter: she looked at him quite suddenly once again, with eyes widened, and the rage still pressing her lips in a line, "How do you know about our engagement?" She said whilst pressing herself against the wall behind her to get as far from him as she could, and hating her own lips for betraying her the very second in which surprise took hold of the King's face at last. Oh, what had she done? "You didn't…"

Lune shook his head, "No, I didn't know." He confirmed softly enough to make the satisfaction in his features make her feel even sicker than before. "I mean, I just assumed that he had proposed to you at last; and it's not like word has not spread about you both since we left Narnia, but…" The breath of his laugh crashed against her lips again to match the amused shaking of his head. "Well, you just confirmed it. Oh, Athena, Athena," His head continued to shake without letting his eyes fall from hers, those he had called green and gold, those that she made sure looked back at him with the very echoes of hatred she felt deep within her heart. "Why would you accept him when you could do so much better?" He wondered almost as if he truly expected a reply, "When you could have  _me_."

Whether he had wished for a reply or not, Athena did reply, and it was not with anything other than the very poison she wished tainted him to death simply for the echo of her words: "I accepted him because I want him and not you. Get that into your thick head: I will  _never_  want you, not while I still have breath in my body, not even after that." Finally, for once, it felt as if the venom in her words touched him, for he flinched, and even his hold on her loosened; not enough for her to escape, yes, but enough that now she didn't feel his nails on her flesh. "Peter is  _twice_  the man you are, and I don't deserve him, but still, he chose me, and I chose him. Nothing you can say will change that."

Without the wounded look disappearing from his face, the horrid King shook his head at once, "Modesty doesn't look good on you, darling." But even his mocking words did not sting, for they lacked the very satisfaction that had been driving him from the moment he had told her a simple  _shh_.

It was enough to spark the fire of the General's words, "I'm telling the truth: he doesn't deserve someone like me, but he chose me, so he  _will_ have me. But not you, no, you won't  _ever_ have me, or anyone, because you don't  _deserve_  anyone," his hold loosened even more, "Not after you invaded Narnia, not after you sent assassins to kill the Monarchs, not after you killed Juliet, not after you hurt Juno, and very much not after you terrified your own son into running away with his aunt," Even her legs seemed to be easier to move away from the lock his own attempted to hold. "You don't deserve  _anyone._ "

Was that sadness she saw in the King's eyes? Was it pain? "You love me," he said, but it was weak; it wasn't as convincing as it might have even been only moments before; no, indeed, he sounded like a child whose favourite toy had been stolen. "You can't stop that," Maybe what she saw in his eyes was denial.

Whatever it was, she refused to stop the very words that seemed to be making him loosen his hold on her all the more, "I don't love you, Lune." He seemed to flinch softly once again. "I never have; I love Peter. He is the only one I have ever loved; you… you were a friend; I never wanted anything more than friendship with you, and I should have told you so before you did all those awful things, but…" her head shook, with the very anger still seeming poisonous enough to keep the King within the weak resolve he seemed to have caught from the moment she had begun to gain more strength. "…but still you did them, and now you won't have me even as a friend; you won't have anyone, you won't deserve anyone. Ever."

His head shook shortly again, "I'm not giving up on us," he said stubbornly, his hold on her legs so soft that the idea of moving away from him begun to feel easier and easier.

She was so close… "There is no  _us_ , don't you understand?" She continued, looking into his eyes so harshly that his even began to blink repeatedly. "There never was, and there never will be." Her feet finally were able to move, so they did, getting a proper hold on the floor as she continued to speak, "And if you mention my sister again, or if you try something against Narnia after this, I  _will_ slit your throat, understood?"

His resolve simply died down; her words wove within his mind so profoundly that they turned him so absolutely weakthat the only barely strong hold upon her was the one he had on her arms. What had happened to him, she wondered then, watching as his eyes fell from hers the way she had seen them do long before, when he had still been a friend, when he had seemed soft enough to act shy; "What happened to the good… scared little girl?" He wondered in a note so low that the only reason Athena even heard it was because his hold kept her so close to him.

Had that been how he had seen her before? Had she truly been nothing more than a good girl? A scared girl? Well… "She became a warrior." She whispered right back, watching with hatred as his eyes slowly lifted to hers once again, and only when their gazes met she finally decided to move: using the newfound freedom of her legs she moved her lower arms to hold onto his elbows and lifted a knee to crash strongly against his groin; she put her hatred there, she put her anger there, she put every single emotion she had denied herself from the moment everything in the previous months had occurred into that single strike, so it was absolutely no surprise that the impact had been vigorous enough to have an immediate reaction. The crazy king's hands fell quickly from her arms, and just as quickly as that had happened, his frame doubled over and thudded against the dusty ground, leaving Athena Ashdown standing above and looking down on him so hatefully that the tears that came unto his eyes were for her as much as for the pain that kept him curled up on the ground. "Stay out of my life." The General told him and finally turned around to  _walk_ away from the alleyway without looking back; the only reminder of what had happened were the bruises she could feel forming upon her arms, and the coughing from the King upon the floor behind her.

She placed a smile upon her lips by the time she turned the corner onto the smithy's shop, and on her way back to Cair Paravel, she kept a close hand upon the hilt of her newly sharpened sword. Never again would she be taken by surprise like that again, and within her mind a brand new silent vow was made: if she ever saw the King of Archenland again, she would drive her sword against his throat, and nothing would save him from that fate.


	44. Chapter 44

─ ♚ ─

The small echoes of conversations from the Throne Room echoed softly for both lovers to hear, and if nothing along the weeks that had passed could have made the reality of their coming marriage a clearer truth, then the many voices that reached both of them at the opposite sides of the room definitely finally did; it was there, it was time, the Throne Room had been completely decorated in ways it never had before, the Great Hall was decorated for the party afterwards, the guests were talking amongst themselves, and the bride and groom were waiting specifically at doors opposite to one another for the moment the ceremony would begin. Indeed, Edmund Pevensie waited behind a door that would lead to the Northern side of the castle, talking with nervous words to his brother and Right Hand (the Narnian title given to those that on Earth would have been called best man or maid of honour, the lovers came to learn), and Juliet Capulet waited behind a door that would lead to the southern side of the castle, with Lucy Pevensie, Athena Ashdown, and Juno Laelia fixing whatever little last things needed to be fixed of her dress or her hair; yet still, as the two remained apart for the last moments of the week, the voices at the other side of each of their doors made it clear for them both: in only a few moments, when the bells of the tower rang announcing the second hour of the afternoon, they would see each other again, and they would become husband and wife.

It had been an especially interesting week, with Edmund and Juliet sleeping in separate beds unlike they had done for months; each of them accompanied by their respective Right Hands to every single place of the castle and even sleeping in their bedrooms, for one of the many differences of the customs in Narnian weddings was that, even if the bride and groom knew each other before the ceremony (which had been about more than half of the weddings as far as the books recounted), they were to not see each other at all for the duration of the whole week prior to the ceremony. Of course, both lovers had tried disagreeing with the tradition, but simply for the reality that their wedding was the very first given in the new age of Narnia (and the first one in a little more than a century), Peter, Susan, and even Lucy insisted that all traditions must be kept at least until the wedding day; and so it had been that the two had been truly separated for the first time since their found romance. "They say separation is the best test for a relationship, you know?" Queen Lucy said one night while Juliet stared up at the canopy of her bed and sighed for what felt like the millionth time; but no matter what Queen Lucy said, the distance between her and Edmund felt almost even torturous, knowing he was so close but so unable to be reached for the silliness of a Narnian tradition. But, of course, both groom and bride to be had been absolutely busy during the days that the separation wasn't entirely felt until the night, when the two would have usually rested together if they had not found a moment in the day to be together in the first place; on the one hand, Juliet had had to manage as many of the details of her own wedding as Susan herself, because while Queen Susan was the one to handle the logistics of all events to take place in the castle, it was Juliet Capulet who had to make sure all the Queen's commands were followed to the smallest detail, and so it appeared that having to be Head of Household whilst planning her own wedding had the two stern-headed women knocking heads for the first time since they met. Of course, it had been during moments like those that the continuous company of Lucy Pevensie along the week was perfectly welcome, for she was able to make them see how ridiculous they sounded as they argued about the exact position a flower-pot should be placed or the colours to lead the whole ceremony; eventually all would break into a wave of laughter and a brand new amount of patience would be tried within the heart of both Queen and Lady.

On the other hand, Edmund Pevensie had been taking special advantage of his time with his older brother to perfect the design of the ring he would present to Juliet upon the ceremony, asking questions to the jeweller, and managing to only argue with Peter while they slept, when the High King thought it a good idea to tie both their wrists together and, just like Lucy and Juliet did at the opposite side of the castle, sleep on the same bed, "I am not a child," Edmund had explicitly told his brother the first night.

But Peter had only rolled his eyes and forced his brother to stay still while he tied the rope around his own wrist, "You may not be a child, but I don't trust you to not try to sneak out of this room to see Juliet while I'm asleep; and since I also need a good rest to deal with  _my own_  duties this week, this is the next best solution, now stop moving." And so it had been for every single day of that week; the High King was sure to reveal a bruise or two on his legs by the avenging kicks his younger brother feigned during the night, simply for the spite of being tied by a rope to his older brother.

All in all, more than a couple of people had had a lot of fun during the week leading to the wedding; Athena Ashdown most of all, who teased the young King repeatedly merely for having to be followed about by his brother, or the many tales Peter himself told her about the nights they spent tied by the wrists. In the end, the castle had been adorned, the colours agreed upon, and every single detail planned and secured for a good first wedding of the Pevensie reign; and so it proved by the time the bells of the tower finally chimed the expected hour and the gentle echoes from the greatly adorned Throne Room began to quiet down. With each chime Juliet's heart tumbled within her chest in a speed almost worrying, which the three other girls noted with a curious query about her well being, "You're not getting cold feet, are you?" Athena wondered a second after Juliet's hands lifted to rest gently upon the lace that covered her chest and a shaky breath escaped from her lips.

Of course the Lady's head shook regardless of how breathless she suddenly felt, "About being breaths away from becoming Edmund's wife, nay, not even a bit; though about having to be part of such a ceremony as to which awaits for me out there, indeed."

Athena's head shook shortly in soft amusement as she reached for Juno shortly beside her, "Well, the ceremony's necessary for you to be his wife, so take a breath and think of him only," she advised, urging the Archen Princess in the direction down the hall that would take them towards the door guests were supposed to go into the Throne Room from. "Good luck, we'll see you out there." She comforted; but the moment Juno opened the door to the great Room, the sound of those from the village who had not been able to fit inside the castle to see the ceremony cheering outside for its beginning reached Juliet wildly enough to make even her amber eyes go wide.

"O, dio ti prego, dammi la forza che nececito; o, la mia regina, cosa pensi che succederà se—oh, do forgive me," she said the moment she looked in Lucy's direction and noted the questioning look upon her otherwise kind features; it was perfectly easy to forget that anxiety wildly forced her native tongue to suffice even when she thought she spoke English, and for it her Queen and friend giggled as she tried handing her the little box where Edmund's wedding ring rested. "I mean to say…" The Protector continued, finally lowering her hands to take the little blue velvet box from the young Queen's hands, "What will come to pass if I, so foolish I, forget the words I must speak? Nay a speck of help I will have, and—"

"Ah, shh. Breathe!" Lucy said lifting her only free hand by the time she had reached to take Juliet's bedroom pillow and daggers from where they had been resting on a chair near them. "I'll be there, and Edmund will be there, and you're not alone, okay? I'm your Right Hand because you trust me, so do that and trust me that whilst I hold that title I won't let you fail, I promise." It was all the Lady could do to nod her head, hold the little box with both hands and take as deep a breath as she could; Lucy, meanwhile, rested a hand on the soft lace covering Juliet's arms, smiled, and squeezed comfortingly before speaking again, "Just remember, after I go in, listen to my words for the cue to head inside and don't step too close to Peter when you see him, stand just a step behind the pillow," Whilst releasing the deep breath, the amber eyed girl nodded once again. "Okay," and with that, Lucy was gone, taking the couple of steps toward the door, opening it, and closing it behind her to leave a beautifully dressed Juliet completely alone in the hall for the first time.

Finally among the guests, Athena found comfort on her seat at last upon the very front row of the nobles by Princess Juno's side; unlike weddings on Earth there was no aisle from which the bridal party would enter, just rows upon rows of prettily adorned chairs for all the guests to sit neatly enough to almost make the scene look like an audience awaiting for a play to start, and at the wall before them, just as it had been wished, the sun shone beautifully through the upper windows covered by soft blue and silver tulle, symbolising the Great Lion's own approval of the match by the brightness shinning through the bride and groom's favourite colours, high enough to spread the colours among the guests, yet low enough that it wouldn't blind any of them as they faced the eastern side of the castle. Just centred under the lower windows that so displayed the great eastern sea for all to see, was the high marble platform that had been finally discovered to be for that specific sort of occasion, to place the ceremony high for all to witness; that day it rested adorned with white daisies (for the lack of a silver flower), blue forget-me-nots and blue and white morning glories placed in silver pots to decorate the otherwise bare bit of wall under the great arches that made the windows, with many different designs of silver and blue fabrics, paints, and embroideries to cover every inch of the marble platform in match to the flowers themselves. On top, of course, for being the place where everyone would be walking, instead of fabric or something so slippery as flowers, there was a beautiful pair of blue and silver roses knotted by their stems made of an impossibly thin layer of wood in breathtaking art; the very centre of which was orderly occupied the moment King Peter and Queen Lucy slipped into the room by the doors at each side of the hall, climbed the steps, and faced each other to mark the start of the ceremony at last. "Who are you," Peter began in Lucy's direction as was the custom for both Right Hands to do; he was dressed in silver garments that matched the exact shade thrown upon ribbons, paints and plates all over the room, around his waist rested a pretty green and gold belt of matte leather that Edmund could have been remembered to be seen wearing a lot during the last year; his personal choice for the trinket taken from the younger king's room to wear as was his right by his title of Edmund's Right Hand; "and what proof do you have of your purpose?"

"I am Lucy Pevensie," the youngest Queen responded as if the two had never met before, looking her older brother in the eye and smiling as softly and seriously as only she was able to do; she was dressed in a blue to match the rest of the decorations, silk flying with her every move whilst upon her hair she wore the little diamond star embellishments Juliet Capulet had many a time worn upon her hair; the little personal trinket from Juliet's that Lucy had chosen to wear as symbol of her title of Juliet's Right Hand; and just like Peter, the Valiant Queen did not wear her crown, for upon only the length of the ceremony, both Pevensies were not in representation of their royal right simply because Narnian weddings made of all those involved in the ceremony equals to the one person that held the lowest title, in this case, Juliet herself. "Standing here by Juliet Capulet's leave as her Right Hand," the young queen continued, "And with presentation of these daggers—her most beloved possession—I prove her trust upon me to claim that title; thus I set them before the eastern sun, so Aslan may watch over this union and protect the owner of this symbol from this day until the day the skies rain fire and the waters run dry," So Lucy moved, holding onto a pillow with one hand and easily placing the sheathed daggers Athena had once given Juliet softly on the floor upon the right side of the platform with the other, just at the top of a silver platter that lay adorned with the letters E, and J, tied together by a pretty red ribbon; and then she stood straight, returning to her spot to face her older brother once again, "And pray, sir, who are you?" Her words came again, matching the very question her brother had given and thereafter finishing the first part of her duty as Right Hand, "And what proof do you have of your purpose?"

Peter's shoulders squared, and he responded to the query as he was supposed to, "I am Peter Pevensie, standing here by Edmund Pevensie's leave as his Right Hand," one of his hands lifted, showcasing the perfectly recognisable crown that Edmund wore whenever he left the castle grounds, "And with presentation of this crown—his most beloved possession—I prove his trust upon me to claim that title; thus, I set it before the eastern sun, so Aslan may watch over this union and protect the owner of this symbol from this day until the day the skies rain fire and the waters run dry," Just like his sister had done, he moved swiftly enough to place the silver crown upon the platter on the left side of the platform, one matching the one where Lucy had place Juliet's daggers; the very plates, in fact, that both Edmund and Juliet would eat from during the party alter on; then Peter stood again, returned to his place, and faced his sister. "Then, thou, Juliet's Right Hand, therefore agree to witness this union to happen, knowing your Juliet to be worthy of he who trusts me?"

Lucy nodded once, and lifted her right hand to rest upon her heart, "I do, in the name of Aslan, for in his name I stand, and to his name I shall not lie."

Peter nodded, "Then I stand aside so you may place your Juliet's pillow behind me, may it comfort Edmund from this moment until the day they both might rest by Aslan's side," His steps led him to the left, and he stood to watch Lucy place the pillow she had been holding on the right side of the platform, centred perfectly on the wooden art, a step behind the place Peter had been standing only a moment before.

When she returned to the place she had been standing a moment prior, she directed her words to Peter again, "And thou, Edmund's Right Hand, therefore agree to witness this union to happen, knowing your Edmund to be worthy of she who trusts me?"

Peter nodded alike, lifting his right hand to rest upon his heart, "I do," he said with a smile at last, all hint of any sort of nerves he had been holding clearly dissipating with the lift of his lips. "In the name of Aslan, for in his name I stand, and to his name I shall not lie."

"Then I stand aside so you may place your Edmund's pillow behind me," Lucy said with a smile much brighter than it had been before, complicit to Peter's own relief. "May it comfort Juliet from this moment until the day they both might rest by Aslan's side," Just like her brother's, Lucy's steps led her to the left, freeing the path for Peter to rest the pillow he had been holding at the opposite side Lucy had placed Juliet's pillow, only a couple of feet away and therefore leaving the two siblings resting side by side, facing the door opposite the one they had come from at the beginning of the ceremony.

"With this agreement," both Pevensies said, holding hands and standing shoulder to shoulder, "I call for the one who intends to marry the one who trusts me to step forth, so these eyes may observe and these lips may allow you the path onto the rest of your joined lives." And so, almost in unison, the doors at southern and northern sides of the hall opened, and in stepped Edmund and Juliet clad in the same colours that adorned the rest of the hall; Edmund's garments were of the softest cerulean blue, with specks of silver to contrast, like the hems of his trousers or the shine of his blue cape embroidered with hints of silver; Juliet, on the other hand, was clad in the most beautiful silver dress Athena and all the guests had ever seen, with a big skirt that flew beautifully from her waist, which was accentuated by the soft fabric of a blue ribbon belt, and made most gasp in absolute awe; it was a gown of silver fabric with a square neck that ended on straps slightly below her shoulders and lay completely embellished by the lace embroidery of many flowers and details that at the upper part served as the sleeves of the gown and reached all the way to the immortal's neck, and beautifully adorned the skirt and the train as it continued long after she had stepped through the door, sparkling under the sunlight for the silver of the main fabric and making a soft swoosh sound as she went, making the entire creation look like a piece of art wrapped in a pretty blue bow than a dress. Still, Juliet held the fabric of her tick silver skirt (with small difficulty from the hand that held the velvet box) and went, in unison to Edmund's own steps, up the stairs that would lead her to the middle of the platform, where she faced Peter Pevensie's smiling face; just as her young Queen had told her, though, she stepped only a step away from the pillow lain before her, centred on the beautiful wooden design she had to step on to finally be in place.

Only when a beat of silence filled the room after Edmund and Juliet had stopped, Peter and Lucy spoke again, the smiles clear upon their words, "You stand before me with the intention of marrying Juliet this day,"—only Peter said Edmund, of course—"do you deny it?"

Sometimes this very moment was where the trouble began, for those who regretted having said yes to a proposal countered with a simple "I deny it" to end the ceremony before it could ever truly begin, but of course, this day, which would come to be known as one of the three most beautiful of the Golden Age, both Edmund and Juliet wondrously said at the same time: "I do not deny it,"

The relief was happily felt along the room, and the smiles of all those who witnessed were matched by Lucy and Peter alike; still, as their next-to-last duty as Right Hand, the two of them spoke again, "I then welcome you, and thereafter step aside so you may wed this man,"—Lucy said woman, of course—"He who has entrusted to me with the task of setting the path to your new life, hoping that this match will prosper, from now until the stars rain down from the heavens." And thus, with a gentle lower of their frame in a bow and curtsy respectively, Peter and Lucy finally stepped aside, moving to stand at the very edges of the platform on the opposite side to where they'd come in from, and therefore finally revealing Edmund and Juliet to each other at last.

It was easy to say that their hearts might have beat along the same tune upon that moment, for a whole week had passed since they had last seen and spoken to each other; Edmund's eyes focused on the amber of Juliet's and he held onto his own little velvet box with a little more strength than he had used before, because there she was, looking as beautiful as she always did, glistening in the fabric of her clothes and smiling at him the way he had wished she could have so many times during the week. Indeed, there she was, and the previous words he had spoken, where he had confessed his intention to marry her for the millionth time yet with the same conviction as the first one, didn't feel at all like enough. "Finally," he said because of it in a voice so soft that only those in the front row or near behind them could possibly have heard, "there you are."

Were those tears that made the young king's eyes glisten? Oh, if they were Juliet was sure to be quick to match them, for the moment her eyes set on Edmund she could have sworn her heart had stopped, and a strong need to reach in his direction came over her so wildly that she had to make her hands hide in the many folds of her big dress to serve as shield against the urge that nearly drowned her, "Aye," because there he was, her impossible fate, her impossible truth, the impossible reality that she was allowed to never give him up, her Edmund, her love. "Finally," she agreed, "for it has been years since I have last seen thy face."

The gentle breath of Edmund's agreeing laugh reached her, and his own hands had to tighten on the box he held so he wouldn't reach for her alike; tradition dictated they simply should not touch until the ceremony requested it, so they had to hold themselves back, "Yeah, so what do you say we get on with it so we never have to be apart again?" He easily told her, and truly, that alone became enough for a few men and women upon the first few rows begin tearing up or coo in absolute adoration to the evidence of love there presented; the only thing Edmund cared about, though, was Juliet, who shortly took a breath and very much began to nod in a motion so wild it made the couple of loose locks of her hair dance with the motion. It became enough to encourage the young king to finally continue with the ceremony by lowering his frame before Juliet until his knees rested on the pillow Lucy had set for him, leave the little velvet box beside him after reaching in for the ring, and place his hands on his heart the way Lord Peridan had taught him to do; and then, at once, with the nervousness beating like a crescendo upon his heart, and his eyes perfectly set on Juliet's above him, the young king began to speak: "I, Edmund Pevensie, under this, the sun of old and new, by the heart which I hold and the love which I give you, I ask you, Juliet Capulet, humble, loyal, and kneeling at your feet, to accept me as your husband, with the promise that I will protect you from harm, treat your heart better than I treat my own, and evermore carry your dreams on my shoulders as if they were my own," And so much more; oh, he would have said so much more if his own vows had been allowed, for he promised to trust her much more than he already had, to reach for her when his nightmares were unbearable, to let her into the deepest corners of his soul and come undone forever in her arms, which were the arms he loved more than he ever thought he could love anyone.

But tradition remained, and because of it, for his role in the kingdom, and the promises he had done to stick to the ceremonies of old, no more than a single pause could prove his wish to say anything else; the pause, and the absolute candour with which his eyes focused on hers. "Letting go of my heart, I leave it under your hold," he continued, then. "Trusting you to carry it every day and protect it better than you protect yours, which I dare hold forever as my world." Just like Peridan had taught him, Edmund's hands moved in a soft circle upon the place they rested, guarding his heart with her love, according to what the Lord had said, and soon after physically offering his heart to her by finally doing as he had wished from the moment he had seen her, and reaching for her left hand with his. "Under the authority of the Great Lion, Aslan, creator of this world, our kingdom, and the Magnificent, Gentle, Just, and Valiant crowns, I take your hand to lead and be led by it, to support and be supported by it, to comfort and be comforted by it, from this, the eighth year of the new Summer, until the very last day you will have me, hoping it will be the last day I draw breath, for in his name I ask to become your husband, and to his name I shall not lie: will you accept me?"

Oh, would she, she wondered, she who had thereafter thought love to be nothing more than her duty, she who had welcomed the Just King's love with an expiration date, she who had thought her heart was meant to break and suffer for the rest of her days of eternity, would she accept him the way she thought she would never be allowed and end all sorrows with two simple words? By her own god, by Aslan, by the gods of all of Narnia, and by anyone else who could have been listening: "I will," she said, because there was absolutely no other way she could have replied, not now, not ever, regardless of the little tear that felt freely down her cheek and she swiftly forced herself to wipe it away.

It was impossible to keep the smile away from his lips as the young King tightened his hold on her hand and so easily pushed himself away from the ground, standing once again level with Juliet and fighting against every single instinct that told him to reach and wipe her tears away himself; instead, clearing away the knot his heart had formed upon his throat over the joy that there led him, Edmund spoke again: "I stand, then, at your side," which he did, walking around the pillow his knees had rested on and stepping exactly by the side of the pillow Juliet would use, no longer letting go of her hand. "As your husband, carrying alike your sorrows, joys, and aches, giving you this ring, which I made by love, sweat and the help of Peter Pevensie, my Right Hand, who stands behind you, with the hopes that it will remind the world of our love," He had to force himself to look away from the beautiful amber eyes he so dearly loved so he could look at her hand and place the ring he had been holding for the past few moments upon her finger; it was a beautiful band of silver and red that beautifully matched her engagement ring, and the moment the material whispered its settlement into its final home, Edmund smiled widely once again, released all the nerves and happiness that had been making his heart impossible to tame in a relieving breath, and looked into those amber eyes he had loved for much longer than ever he would admit out loud, "For your are mine as I am yours, under the name of Aslan, who allows this match, for in his name I take you, and to his name I shall not lie." He concluded, ignoring the extreme rule of their touch for a second to lift her hand up to his lips to kiss; a couple of people in the rows of guests gasped in surprise at Edmund's little rebellion, but most of them, Lucy included, tried wiping away their tears at the adoration proven before them; thankfully, that single indiscretion took only a few moments, for Edmund returned to his place now in front of the pillow he had used and forced himself to let go of Juliet's hand at once.

With a nervous breath, willing her own mind to focus on the words she had to speak, Juliet held her skirts and moved to softly kneel atop the pillow resting before her; it was a task easier thought that done, for the fabric of her dress made it so she had to kneel without truly seeing what she was kneeling on, but eventually she did, placed her own little velvet box beside her after taking the ring from it, looked up at her husband and placed her hands upon her heart with all the will she could have ever thought of having, "I, Juliet Capulet, under this, the sun of old and new, by the heart which I hold and the love which I give thee," She began the way he had; with a voice so steady she almost even wondered whose it was. "I ask thee, Edmund Pevensie, humble, loyal, and kneeling at thy feet, to accept me as your wife," It was hers, it most definitely was hers. "With the promise that I will protect you from harm, treat thy heart better than I treat mine own, and evermore carry thy dreams upon my shoulders as if they were mine," It was hard for the echoes of her voice to continue so steady, but they did, even as she gulped down the knot her nerves had placed in the middle of her throat; because if she did not, if she let the nerves take over her, she would forget the words, she would forget them like a bad actor upon a play and all her happiness would be ruined.

But she continued on, breathing softly for a short moment and wetting her lips against the dryness that her nerves so easily brought; because he was there, standing in front of her, already her husband, and she simply refused to let him down, to fail where he had succeeded, so she smiled and continued speaking instead. "Letting go of my heart, I leave it under thy hold, trusting you to carry it every day and protect it better than thou wouldst protect yours, which I dare hold forever as my world." Indeed, she had remembered, because she had been taught by Peridan as well, and even in a ceremony so serious and happy as her own wedding, her gentle sense of jest competition with Edmund Pevensie remained by reminder of his smiling eyes, and so, just like he had done, her hands moved in a soft circle against the lace upon her chest, guarding her heart with his love and swiftly offering her heart to him by reaching to the very hand he offered and so wonderfully held for the beauty of the ring that made him hers. "Under the authority of the Great Lion, Aslan, creator of this world," She continued, then, unable to remove the smile from her pretty lips, "our kingdom, and the Magnificent, Gentle, Just, and Valiant crowns, I take thy hand to lead and be led by it, to support and be supported by it, to comfort and be comforted by it, from this, the eighth year of the new Summer, until the very last day thou wilt have me, hoping it will be the last day I draw breath, for in his name I ask to become thy wife, and to his name I shall not lie: wilt thou accept me?"

Barely even a beat had passed before Edmund replied as personally as he dared: "What a silly question, of course I will." Tradition be damned, he would refuse to sound like a robot when he would rather scream to the skies that he would take her then, next month, next year, and next lifetime if he bloody well could; and, if anything, the gentle giggles from many of the guests only encouraged him. And why should they not? It was  _his_ wedding to Juliet,  _her_ wedding to Edmund; tradition surrounded them in so many ways already.

Therefore, with the same encouragement Edmund felt upon his heart, Juliet's smile brightened her face completely as she reached down to hold her skirts and began the great manoeuvre of getting up; of course, it took a little longer for her to rise, but in the end she did, just like he had done, without letting go of his hand, "I stand, then, finally, now that this dress hast thus allowed me," She jested for the sake of the freedom she thereafter felt; not only because she had remembered all the words, but because her wedding to Edmund had become a traditional version of wild, alike their love had seemed to be, that it even brought the giggles back, and all the royals even joined in that time. By the time the giggles subsided, she stood at the very centre of the platform, and finally she continued the words she knew she had to speak: "At your side, as thy wife, carrying alike your sorrows, joys, and aches, giving thee this ring, which I thus made by love, sweat and the help of Lucy Pevensie, my Right Hand, who stands behind you," Softly she slid the ring she had been holding onto Edmund's finger, a band of equal silver and ruby hints that matched the one she wore, "With the hopes that it will remind the world of our love, for thou art mine as I am yours, under the name of Aslan, who allows this match." She had done it; she had remembered, she had breathed, she had done what she was supposed to do, and finally, she could stand and evermore be Edmund's wife. "For in his name I take tee, and to his name I shalt not lie."

It was the cue of the end of the second part of the ceremony, and for it both Peter and Lucy turned around and walked away from the platform, their duties done, leaving Edmund and Juliet, facing each other and holding hands, entirely on their own by the end of every single thing expected of the Right Hand; only when Peter and Lucy found their seats by Susan's side (the only Pevensie who  _was_ wearing her pretty crown atop her head), did Edmund and Juliet take a step forward to begin the third and last part of the ceremony. They stood with their feet almost touching, and though their hands did not part, they did twist and lift until their forearms were touching as well, and their palms faced them, leaving the back of Edmund's hand facing Juliet, and the back of hers facing him alike; once their hands rested in the position they were meant to, their eyes did the counting for them, and together they spoke again: "And thus we stand together, as husband and wife, equal to the world, sharing of one heart and one soul, from now united, until the stars rain down from the heavens, by Aslan's approval" yet another little tear felt happy down Juliet's pale cheek. "For in his name we wed, and to his name we shall not lie." Finally, all the words were done, and only two things remained for them to do; the first was done gently as they leaned forward and pressed their lips to each other's rings, sealing, as Peridan had taught them, the vow that they had taken that day and making it official in the eyes of all, for their lips became the last acknowledgement against the rings that then forever belonged to one another, and as long as those rings and their love remained their bond could not be broken even by Aslan himself.

The second thing to do, of course, was the one the newly married couple would claim to have been waiting for during the entirety of the week they had spent apart, which was to lower their held hands without ever letting them part, and finally closing every single speck of distance between them so their lips could meet in a kiss as deep as they dared make it in front of so many people, leaving them so close indeed that the fact that their hands remained attached made the back of each other's hand ended up resting almost exactly upon the place the other's heart rested. The cheers from outside the castle were loud, and they mingled with the cheers and applause coming from every single person in the room; finally, the country rejoiced at the first royal match made, and though they would not be able to call Juliet their Queen until her coronation a few days later, they all still cheered for her as well as if she already held a crown upon her head.

Indeed, that was another thing Juliet would have to worry about; but for now, as she parted from the kiss she shared with her husband and turned to face all those who so quickly wished to move to congratulate them, Juliet Capulet felt like everything in her world was right together at last.


	45. Chapter 45

─ ♚ ─

The sun shone bright upon the early summer day, only a week after the long awaited wedding between the youngest King of Narnia, and she who the magical world called its legend; and while that had been a day so beautiful for its meaning with the party after the ceremony and the perfect peace many a guard had been expectant to break, the day that so shone upon that morning brought the expectancy of a moment awaited by Edmund Pevensie, and absolutely dreaded by Juliet herself: her coronation day.

The reality of it was that many months before they had even gotten married, a conversation had broken between the royals and Juliet one early winter day, with the war newly finished, and a couple of days away from the arrival of Duke Lark; in it, Juliet, with deep red cheeks and the shakiness of discomfort, had so heartily told the Pevensies that she did not wish to be a Queen, for she had never wished for the heaviness of a crown, and cared not for anything other than the love she had found by Edmund's side. "Lest Edmund let me lie, not he, nor I e'er thought our romance would be lived with naught but a time limit where I would have to let him go," in support, and without letting go of her hand (the only public display of affection that he ever truly let himself showcase), the young King had nodded. "Thus, a crown ne'er reached mine mind, and I told thee so, Peter, the day thou so hastily asked me to be thy wife, that such a divinity was ne'er meant for me, for I still think it true: if Aslan had meant for me to be a Queen he wouldst indeed have crowned me himself a long time ago, so why, I pray, should I accept a crown now, simply onto the claim that it comes by the path of loving a King?"

And exactly like the very day Juliet mentioned, all the royals had been completely astounded that the girl refused to accept a crown; Edmund most of all, for in his eyes, the gentle girl of the dreaming mind had been a Queen forever, though not in name, and he had wished for nothing more, when his allowance to marry her had been known, than for the rest of the world to be able to see Juliet the way he did. And though he had meant to speak, to make his feelings known regardless of how his family remained within the room, before he had been able to do so, Lucy had broken the shock instead: "But have you ever though that Aslan meant for this to happen exactly the way it has?" Even the gentleness of her blue eyes had focused on her Lady, easily lifted from the continuously surprising affection shown by her brown eyed brother, which refused to become something normal in her mind, "We came to Narnia exactly the way he meant us to, so why should you be any different?" she had wondered, "Think about it… if he had made you Queen before, there would have been no need for us, or any other Kings or Queens given your immortality, which means you would never have met us, therefore, you wouldn't have fallen in love with Edmund the way you have."

"Not to mention, the crown," Peter had continued, easily following his younger sister's train of thought and leaning against the very plans Susan had insisted they begin thinking about: the plans for Juliet's coronation, which had brought the conversation up in the first place. "It appeared in the treasury the day Edmund proposed to you; whether I was the one that forced him to choose or not, the crown did appear that day, and I believe it wouldn't have appeared if Aslan didn't mean for things to happen exactly the way they did: with Edmund choosing  _you_."

"Which means," Edmund had completed, looking in Juliet's direction and pressing a soft comfort upon her hand as he did, "He wants you to be Queen now, just like I do."

In the end, Juliet hadn't been able to fight against the very logic the four Pevensies (for Susan had joined them in the attempts at convincing her the moment the protector had begun to argue against it) presented her with, and the date for her coronation had been chosen as well as the compromise that she would have to be called Queen Consort like it would have come to be on Earth instead of Queen on her own right the way the books of Narnia spoke of all the Queens by marriage in the past. Of course, she knew it would not be an easy thing for the people of Narnia to accept, and she also knew that most of them wouldn't even truly accept it in the first place, but in the future, a long time from then, when the history of the Golden Age was spoken of (not that she knew at that moment that she was living in the Golden Age of Narnia), the books would call her Queen Consort, and that, at least for her mind, was enough of a comfort for her to be less against the idea of a crown upon her head than when the realisation of what being married to a King meant had come. And, sure, along the months, she had tried as earnestly as she could to avid the subject of her coronation, speaking more of the wedding itself and all the details she could come to share about it, than what awaited her a week later, when the coronation had been scheduled to happen; but the very day after the wedding had happened every single success she had had at ignoring every possible semblance of her future coronation had simply gone out the window, for Susan had decided to speak about the colours that could light the room, her dress, the jewellery she would wear, the words she would have to speak, and every single thing Juliet had told her she could take care of entirely all those months before, the very moment Edmund and Juliet arrived to breakfast the next day (long past the usual time for breakfast had finished, but who could blame the newly married couple for staying in bed as long as they had wished to?).

But the days had passed faster than Juliet had imagined, and before she knew it, she was walking down the same path the Pevensies had walked the very day she had officially met them; she had been there, standing upon the first of the rows at the sides of the great room were her wedding had come to pass all that time later, and seen the Kings and Queens walk by Aslan's sides, climb the ten steps onto the throne platform, and be crowned by the very friends that had so helped them along the great adventure started upon their arrival to Narnia. And now there she was, dressed in a beautiful gown of silver silk of a green undertone that accompanied the silver cloak upon her shoulders as they flew behind her with every step she took with Edmund at her side the way Aslan had walked by his, walking down the same aisle created by the centaurs of the army, nobles and friends of the monarchy, the way the Pevensies had walked, and stepping up onto the very platform where her friends and husband had stood all those years before. There was a part of her that continued feeling wrong, unworthy of claiming the same sort of title she had been witness be given to the Kings and Queens, but the smiles upon the creatures she had passed, along the ones so placed upon Lucy, Peter and Susan's lips as they awaited standing by their own thrones, helped her fight against that self thought inadequacy as she stepped at their same level—by their sides instead of behind the throne the way she had done from the moment she had been named Lucy's Protector—just in front of Edmund's throne, the way it had been said Queens and Kings by marriage had done upon their coronation all those centuries before (standing in front of their spouse's throne), and turning to face every single person and creature that awaited smiling for the moment the crown of silver and ruby flowers would be placed upon her head.

The room finally quieted then, with the trumpets stopping their song, the chatter of all who noted her beauty dying down, and all eyes resting upon her at last; no matter how much she tried for them to be, the emotions that so drove her that moment were not the same as the ones she had felt upon their wedding a week before, because then she had known that she would not go through the ceremony on her own, she had known that everyone's eyes would be focused on her  _and_ her future husband, she had known that she had not been the subject of everyone's attention, yet now, unlike a week before, Edmund had moved away from her and taken his place at the side of his throne instead of by her side, and with that and the room's silence so came the moment Juliet stood alone, facing every person in the room, having to speak the way many wives and husbands of Kings and Queens had had to do upon their coronation day.

Indeed, her heart felt as if it were about to beat out of its cavity, her hands trembled so that she had to clasp them in front of her to stop her from reaching for the folds of her dress the way she would have done any other day as mark of her nerves—because Queens were not supposed to do things like those as far as her mother had told her endless times along her many attempts to get Juliet to agree to marry—and she had to gulp down the very knot brought forth because of them, but in the end her lips did part, and the words left gentle and thankfully unshaken from them: "I stand before thee the wife of thy beloved Just King, Edmund Pevensie, who hath so chosen me to stand by his side as equals, alike it has been done since the age of Queen Helen," Behind her, though she was unable to see, Edmund smiled with the full sort of adoration he held within his heart for Juliet, as she so claimed to be his wife and made his own heart jump within his chest with a happiness he had not known until he had truly called her his. "And so," Juliet continued, unaware of the clear adoration behind her that many of those in front of her had been able to see, "Like she once did, I vow to hold the will of Narnia onto mine own heart, to protect it, alike I would a child of mine own blood, to love it and its people, with the same devotion I hold for the King I have thus married, for I am my own as I am his, as I will be Narnia's forever, and I swear thus by the name of Aslan, creator of this world and us all, for in his name I accept this title," She vowed, standing as straight as she was able to and feeling less preoccupied only for the end of her words. "And to his name I shall not lie."

Yes, her part of it was done as far as speaking came, but she still had to stand as the echo of the Pevensies' steps reached her and all of them stood in front of their thrones alike, symbolising the equality thus given to Juliet as they said in perfect unison for all to hear: "And we accept her to stand by our side," of course, Edmund immediately moved to hold her hand, for, as the first royal couple, they stood together in front of the throne that once had been his alone, but still, Juliet could hardly believe it, and if anyone asked her in future, she would claim she went through her coronation as if it had been a dream, for it was exactly that sort of feeling that tingled upon the entirety of her body as the ceremony went on. "And so, to the Great Western Wood, sharing of my title and my crown," Edmund continued on his own, looking away from his wife with the smile so rare to the public, but so accepted from the moment he had even announced his engagement to the girl he refused to let go of all that time ago, "I give you Queen Juliet," He looked at her again, "The Strong." With the soft echo of those words, making Juliet's lips part with hopes of letting in air she very much felt she needed, the cue came for Athena Ashdown, Juliet's personally chosen master of crown, to step forward and climb the stairs to reach and walk in the direction of Juliet and Edmund, carrying a beautiful crimson cushion the way the young immortal had seen Mr. and Mrs. Beaver do upon the Pevensies' coronation; only, instead of  _their_ crowns, there rested the beautiful flowery halo of silver and ruby that Edmund and his siblings had told her was to be hers. It was not the first time she saw it, but still its beauty made her heart stop almost at once, for it shone with the light of the sun so majestically that all words escaped Juliet at once, making her feel thankful that she did not have to speak anymore; the pause was not as long as the young immortal felt it had been, for absolutely no time at all passed from the moment Athena had stepped up to the throne platform to the moment she managed a short bow before Juliet and Edmund and thus offered the object she carried for the young King to take, stepping to the side only when he had taken the ruby and silver concoction in his hands yet smiling from ear to ear by the time she reached the furthest side of the platform in the end.

It was then that Edmund stood before his wife and nodded for her to shortly bow before him, with the smile upon his lips perfectly evident to be as proud and adoring as his siblings could easily see; the lower of Juliet's body came smoothly and without a problem, but it was her mind that drove her pretty eyes to hide behind the softness of her lids, for within her mind all she could hear were the very words she had told herself endlessly even after the echo of her mother's voice had disappeared from her memory: who was she, oh, gentle Juliet Capulet, but the naïve young girl who had trusted so foolishly and had died by the hand of he who should have loved her? Who was she but a Lady, a young girl destined to live for as long as the Protectors did, and who had thought the gentleness of love to be for all she cared for but her? She was not a Queen, she was not a royal, she was not someone anyone had to bow to, she was just a girl… the kind dreaming girl who would eventually be called The Soft as much as The Strong, the fighter who loved her duties of Protection, the hopeful who accepted love out of selfishness and her own heart's devotion regardless of how everything she had known told her it shouldn't have been possible, she was a girl, a naïve little girl who shouldn't ever be called a Queen. And yet the coolness of the silver fell upon her head as Edmund placed her crown atop the curls that lay fixed in a beautiful style of braids that left half of her hair flowing upon her shoulders and the rest upon a little bun, "Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen…" he said, and Juliet had to force her eyes to open again as the shadow of Edmund's presence disappeared and left her free to be seen by all again; how was it possible, she wondered, that she had gone from an eternity of solitude, writhing in the darkness of nothing, screaming against the mist that had held her spirit unable to hear or feel or do anything other than think, to a living person once again, married to the very person she loved better than she had ever loved anyone in all of her existence, and now rising from the ground a Queen of Narnia? "May your wisdom grace us until the stars rain down from the heavens."

She had heard those words before when the Pevensies had been crowned, but now, it was not their names the crowd chanted as they all sat their thrones—and Edmund stood by her side proudly whilst Juliet sat on his as she had been told—instead the echoes came of "Long live Queen Juliet," cheering, clapping, and all the more making her feel like perhaps there had been some sort of mistake; but it was Edmund's hand, holding onto her own so softly as the trumpets began to play again, that made her see and accept the truth she had been fighting against for months: it was not the crown she had been looking forward to from the moment Edmund had proposed, but him, and thus, all that truly mattered was him, the boy she had fallen in love with against all other odds, and the fact that she would be able to spend the rest of his life with him, not the King he happened to be, nor the crown that rested atop her head, or any other title she could be given for being married to a king. Yes, in the end, she knew, it would not be the crown she would speak of centuries from then, when she remained alive and Edmund lay in a grave gone from old age, but the kind-hearted boy who was able to fight against his past and loved her as strongly as he did, who trusted her, who became her whole world.

Any crown, no matter how undeserved she thought it to be, was worth being his wife.

And so the thought remained for the rest of the celebration, when she had to walk as a Queen for the first time and greet many nobles she had not had to personally talk to before whilst forcing herself not to tell them to not curtsy by the pressing of her lips masked with the rising of a smile; Edmund, of course, became her support for the rest of the day, with his hand on hers and a couple of easy whispers for her to be able to know what she should do as Queen and what people expected of her, and for it the day went on without another speck of doubt or mistake. It wasn't really until the very next day that the first hint of an issue arose for the gentle dreamer, when she, as she had done even the second day after her wedding to Edmund, woke early and headed in the direction of Lucy's room to help her dress and do her hair the way she had done from the very day after the young girl's coronation as The Valiant Queen; no one really had stopped her (not even Edmund, who she'd left sleeping in his bed), and all those that crossed her path curtsied as she passed and only made her feel a little bit inadequate, but when she reached the young Queen's room, it had been her who had looked at Juliet with a rather bewildered face as she sat up on her bed and began to untangle her familiar braid, "Juliet?" she asked with a little frown in the middle of her forehead, and her hands stopping their task for the surprise written in her features. "Is everything alright?"

It had been weird to be asked such a thing, and it was for it that the strange feeling of having never woken from a dream came upon her once again; after all, she had done the same thing for years without mistake for everything except the day of her wedding, so no one could really fault her for the little frown that became a mirror in young Juliet's forehead, "I… of course, why shouldn't it be?" She wondered then, moving to open the light curtains of Lucy's window and refusing to look away from the young girl at all.

All became even more confusing to her when Lucy asked, "What are you doing here?" as she continued to untangle her long light brown braid.

In fact, the question felt so strange that at least at that moment Juliet did stop moving and simply stood almost in the middle of the room, "Why… helping thee dress, of course…" even her hands hovered at her sides as if the lack of movement could help her understand what was wrong, "…as I have done each morrow since that precious day when you were crowned."

At that point, understanding came into Lucy's blue eyes, and the true strangeness of the situation only became worse for it; simply because Juliet could not plainly see the reason her usual activities were taken as a surprise at all; at least not until Lucy herself spoke plainly about it: "But now  _you_ have been crowned," she said, the smile lifting the corners of her lips so amiably that it became ever contagious as it always did and lifted Juliet's own without her entirely realising it, "You're a Queen, too, no longer a Lady. Which means you don't have to help me dress or get ready for the day ahead, in fact…" she got out from the bed and walked softly in the direction of the young protector, whose smile had dissipated and had instead become a strange companion for the frown that wrinkled her forehead. "…you should be thinking of getting  _your own_ Lady in waiting; though I  _will_ miss seeing you so early every day, you can be sure of that."

It was simply unexpected; and though it was quite obvious, perhaps the gentle denial that had driven Juliet for months had made her blind to the normalcy of what Lucy spoke. Had many Ladies in waiting not become Queens along the history of the world? Even members of a Turkish harem had risen to the post of Sultana and not been expected to do the same things they had done when they had been only slaves; yet her denial had simply made her think of the crown as nothing more than a piece of jewellery she  _had_ to wear as a consequence to being married to a King, instead of what appeared to be the truth: that wearing it and holding the title that accompanied it would bring to meaning that she was expected to sit all day and deal with political things the way the Pevensies did, and all her freedom and action-filled days were gone by the winds that had driven her for nearly nine years; it shouldn't have come to surprise when the gentle panic driven upon her voice was accompanied by the soft shake of her head. "But, surely, I… I am only Consort, we agreed," She attempted to remind her friend and fellow Queen, "I am nay a  _true_ equal, but a Consort, thus my duties, I… the castle…"

Lucy surprised her by placing her soft hands upon her shoulders almost at once, and that smile upon her lips did not disappear; instead it became softer, sympathetic, almost even a little comforting alike the note of her voice, "Look, why don't you help me today, for the sake of all the time you  _were_  my Lady?" the young Queen wondered, hoping to do anything that could make Juliet seem slightly less shocked than she appeared to be whilst keeping the peace within all those she loved the way she had forever done, "I meant to speak with Lady Rosemund about being my personal Lady in waiting, but I did not have the chance, so I was planning on dressing myself today anyway; but now you're here, so it's like it was meant to be." She even appeared absolutely delighted about the prospect, and her happiness was absolutely unable to be ignored by the amber eyed girl who felt as if the floor had been pulled from under her feet. "We will talk about it over breakfast with everyone, and then everything will be set to rights."

To rights it might mean to be set, but Juliet conceded to what was requested with the automatic flair of someone who was driven through life by the mere winds of the world instead of the consciousness of their own mind; the new royal helped Lucy pick the dress she would wear that day, she helped brush her hair, prepare it beautifully with its curls to rest along her shoulders, and remained even to be helped to make the bed as she ever had done whenever Lucy had forgotten to do it before Juliet had arrived, but never once did the young protector speak or make any note of acknowledgment that that day would be her last day helping the youngest Queen to do as she had helped her do during the entirety of her reign. In fact, the silence remained with no more than the attempts at comfort from gentle Lucy even as they walked finally towards the private breakfast room where they had all been sharing all their meals for years; when they arrived, accompanied by Susan, who they had encountered upon their way to the hall, Peter and Edmund broke off from the deep conversation that they had been having, and the youngest of the Kings stood immediately from his chair to welcome Juliet with an affectionate kiss upon her left temple, that even then was accepted with the soft lift of an almost automatic smile that brought into attention the strangeness of the gentle Italian as she sat upon her chair by her husband's side. Of course, for familiarity of her morning silence and smile, only Edmund and Lucy could note anything was amiss at all, with the king reaching for his wife's hand under the table and gazing upon her with the worry and curiosity that wished him to ask the trouble, and Lucy's constant shifting wonder in her direction even as Susan and Peter began setting their food upon their plates the way they had done for years before; it wasn't long before Athena Ashdown arrived at the hall as well, and the conversation, which had consisted on everything that had gone well with the coronation the day prior, broke into a wave of welcome in her direction.

The silence about the situation remained even from the youngest queen's lips, but only because she had been waiting for the right moment to bring up the subject, but her waiting would come to feel cursed, for no sooner had Athena sat down and began filling her plate with food that the soft eyed Queen Susan brought up a single query at once: "So, dear Juliet, tell me, now that the coronation is behind you and you can truly worry only about being a wife, have you put any thought as to who shall take your place as Head of Household?"

Indeed, the oldest Queen had even been mindlessly wondering whilst spreading a little bit of jam on her toast, but the sudden echo of Juliet's fork falling loudly onto her silver plate surprised everyone at once; not to mention the near tear-filled expression that looked in Susan's direction from the newest royal's gaze. One could have easily thought she had been asked to choose a place where a loved one would be buried instead of who was to replace her in her duties at once, "So it  _is_  true," young Juliet mourned with the hollowness of her heart as she leaned back upon her chair, and even held Edmund's hand with both of hers under the table, "I shall be naught but a Queen and a wife from now on, useless to all forevermore."

Though Susan resumed the spreading of the jam upon her held toast, her eyes simply refused to move from Juliet's as the shock of her words befell her, "Now, that's a dramatic statement if I ever have heard one before," she said with a gentle note of amusement as the beauty of a soft smile lifted her lips, "I would have thought you would be glad to be rid of Household duties!"

Almost immediately, Juliet's head shook so much that even the ends of her loose locks of onyx danced with the motion, "Indeed, I am not," she confessed, looking to her friend with an air of sorrow that would otherwise not have been found in her for the happiness that being married to Edmund had brought from the very ceremony that had proclaimed them husband and wife until that day, "For perhaps once, long before I died a human death and was thus called for a duty of Protecting, did I imagine a married life where I was naught but the Lady of a little Italian palace on the coast, where I worried about naught else but making my Lord husband happy, and there liveth the rest of mine happy life painting, reading, dreaming, and raising children alike I had wish't for all my childhood, or planed celebrations as my Lady Mother, may she rest in peace, had done until the end of her days, but indeed, my dearest Susan, such a thought died a long time ago,

Or if I shall be frank, I may ne'er believe it existed at all, for many a times I told Nurse that when I married, if I ever did, I wouldst help those who worked for me to pluck the grapes from our vineyard, and be as much a friend of them as I had been of all the servants in the Capulet household," Kind and dramatic as Juliet was, even a hand lifted to wipe away the single tear that there had adorned a cheek swiftly; for, indeed, in truth she had nothing to be sad about, for there she rested, beloved by the man she did hold dearest than the world, married to him, and a Queen indeed; but may God forgive her for the silly thought she regretted the moment she even had it: that she would happily give away her queenship and Edmund if she had to, if she could keep on working the way she had for the past nine years. It was that thought, in fact, that made a gentle air of guilt adorn even the continuation of her words, which came even as the confession, hardly stopped by her horrible and immediately retracted thoughts, left her lips onto the silent surprise of all those around the table, and the almost sympathetic smile lifting Athena Ashdown's lips, "And if e'er a thought would come to return, if it ever did live, then I pray thee know, that it hath indeed perished the day thy valiant young sister chose me for a Lady and Protector, for I have known the softness of the morrow to wake me in duty ever since, and I have thereafter welcomed it for all of eight and a half years, lest my beloved Lord husband let me lie that I hath done even when I woke by his side before we married for those years we did share in secret,"

"It's true," Edmund admitted with a concerned air regardless of the soft pride that shone upon his features; for had he not been thinking just the previous night how strange it would be to see Juliet doing nothing all day when for years before he had even acknowledged his infatuation towards her she had been running about doing something as Lucy's Lady or as Head of Household? "I even made myself wake early so I wouldn't miss her when she left in the morning," and he had loved her and admired her all the more for being so happy to serve the way she had seemed whenever she had left to do her duties.

Oh, how Juliet thanked Aslan, God, and all the other deities in Narnia that she had chosen for a husband someone who understood her so fully, as her eyes full of love could claim in thanks even by the time she looked away from him towards Peter, Susan, Athena and Lucy, who had somehow found the will to resume eating by the time the youngest of them all spoke in gentle agreement to the happenings of even that morning, "I must admit, it is hard for me to think of someone else helping me get ready in the mornings," accomplice as she might be when she looked in Juliet's direction and bit on a piece of fluorescent fruit, she didn't sound so convinced by the time she spoke again, "but it does seem rather wrong to think of a Queen serving as a Lady might."

"Aye, but 'tis no more than a title," Juliet insisted, her food continuing to go on ignored, for her own worry kept a tight knot upon her throat that she could swear would not let her swallow anything even if she tried it; so instead of trying to eat, she looked in Susan and Peter's direction with a near supplication in her lips as much as her eyes, "I told thee true, if thou wouldst recall, before I married thy brother, that I cared not for the titles such a marriage brought me, that all I doth care upon was the love he gave me, and the fact that, by God and Aslan's name, I would be even allowed to spend forever with him when I thought it impossible, and thus we agreed, that I would be naught but a Queen Consort if I must be called a Queen at all, and thus I accepted and was crowned and now am known as Queen Juliet, The Strong, but ne'er did I agree to cease all else, for I am Queen only in name, I begged it, I did, and thus I must beg again, now that it is all so late to retract my queenship, that thou doth allow me to serve still, for I know not what would be of me if I did naught at all but dream, and read, and paint the way I once might have wished, I beg, dear friends, I beg, for this mine heart, as happy as it has become, as satisfied as it has been since I was able to call Edmund my husband, shall suffer in the end, I know it, I. Thus, I beg, for mine own love for thee and thy brother, for the duty I swore on to Narnia yesterday, I beg—"

"Please, Juliet," Susan said with the smile that had begun to form on her lips as everyone else's by the gentle amusement as much as the bout of love that ignited the hearts of all those around the table towards the kind immortal as she set down her fork at once, "You don't have to beg, I promise you. I just think we all thought you would be glad to be rid of the work, that's all." She confided, reaching a hand in her direction and looking at her siblings around the table and the one she knew would join their little family soon enough; Athena smiled in turn, for all the sympathy that she could feel whenever the thought of her wedding to Peter did come, she could not imagine at all giving up her role as General of the army, ever. "But you  _are_ a Queen," Susan continued, "And as your beloved husband has loved to remind us since we were all crowned, a King or Queen can do as they please as long as it doesn't damage the country," she sat straight again, reaching for her fork so she may resume her breakfast at once, "So if it is your will to stay Head of Household, then Head of Household you shall remain, and may all speak against it if they will, for by decree of the Lion, you are a Queen in your own right as well, as all wives and husbands of Kings and Queens have been since the age of Queen Helen the first, and your will shall be done."

It would have been easier to think someone had told Juliet Christmas had come early, for her eyes did shine so beautifully and happily that Edmund beside her only brightened at the continuous reminder that he  _was_ her husband and found pride on the strength, stubbornness and will of his wife as the happiness made of her lips the very smile he had wished to see from the moment she stepped into the dining hall, "Oh, dost thou mean it?" She wondered, holding slightly tighter to Edmund's hand and even leaning into the table so much that the waves of her hair were in danger of becoming stained by the whip cream on her piece of pie. "If thou speakst true, then I shall bless the day I was crowned, indeed, for if naught else may come from that I shall be ever happy regardless."

"I mean, for the sake of tradition I  _will_ ask Lady Rosemund to be my Lady in waiting, so you will  _only_  be called my Protector if you insist on still serving me whenever you wish, dearest, though you may think of it more as a wish than a duty from now on," Lucy intervened as she placed another piece of fruit upon her lips.

"And you  _will_ be called Queen Juliet  _before_  your title of Head of Household, as well, for the sake of tradition," Peter continued along the same thought Lucy had attempted, serving himself a piece of the pie Juliet's hair was so adamant on trying.

But it was Susan who confirmed what all else merely insinuated: "But other than that, you shall keep on with your duties and none of us will try to stop you, you have our word."

Indeed, Juliet would not have been happier if they told her that it would be Christmas for the rest of the year; her array of  _thank yous_  and the relief that there remained lit her features for the rest of the day became evidence enough of that, and just like it had seemed the day after her wedding, absolutely everything in her world seemed to be set right. Of course, what she didn't know—for it would be unknown until the older couple of Athena and Peter were pressured alike for the engagement that they kept secret—was that her own allowance to keep her duties and titles served as much as a happiness to her as an assurance to nervous Athena Ashdown, who had feared the very things Juliet had spoken: that she would be only a Queen and a Wife and therefore be expected to do nothing other than sit around like the many Queens in English history books.

In the end, that day, more than one person was made happy upon that breakfast, and, at least for a while, the peace truly was fully allowed to reign upon Cair Paravel once more, with a happy Queen Juliet serving as she had done for the past nearly nine years, and a relieved future Queen Athena for knowing she need not give up the things that made her who she was simply for the consequence of having fallen in love with a King: happiness was found, regardless of the secrets Athena and Peter kept, once again all along the realm.


	46. Chapter 46

─ ♚ ─

The weeks had passed, transformed into months, and brought forth the cooling of the year onto the edge of summer, the druids had begun their falling dances, and the sun warmed only when it shone bright atop in the middle of the sky; the peace of the realm remained, and not one person dared ask the reason behind Juliet's continuous duties alike they had been before she had been crowned Queen. Lucy's birthday came and went, as did Edmund's, and the only people worried onto the peace that would not break were Athena Ashdown, who could never forget the little kidnapping attempt from King Lune, and King Edmund, who refused to believe Archenland's apparent defeat after having learnt what King Lune had done to his best friend.

It had been weeks before his wedding to Juliet, when the spring had begun forming the beauty Lucy Pevensie so adored to see, and when Edmund had thereafter been concerned upon the silence and clear preoccupation taking over Athena's features; he had confronted her about it, of course, being as light as he had been able to whilst being moved about his best friend's well being, and it had felt as if his whole world had turned upside down when the General told him exactly what it had been that had kept her so forlorn and silent, "Can't he just go away?" The Just King had exclaimed just after his eyes had rolled and a heavy breath had left his lips; because it seemed ridiculous, threatening them, sending an assassination attempt that had failed, starting an invasion that had failed as well… anyone in their right mind would have given up and began trying to bring peace between the countries once again, and that much they had thought had been the case when Lark had arrived. Attempting to kidnap the future High Queen was definitely the last straw, "We have to tell Peter."

To his surprise, just as his frame had begun turning to head in the direction of the Northern wing, Athena's hand had moved to hold his arm and stop him at once. "No," she had told him immediateluy, her eyes wide and her lips pressed in a thin line that broke the second she spoke again, "Please, don't tell him."

Of course her adamant expression and the urgency in her voice had been enough for the King to worry, but he had long learnt to ask questions before taking rash actions that he could come to regret later, "You're sure you want more secrets between you?" He wondered for it.

Athena's hand loosened and let go of him as her head shook shortly, "It's not a secret," she said, "Not exactly."

Edmund's forehead had been invaded by a little frown, and his arms had lifted to cross upon his chest, all to accompany the wary note of his voice, "How do you mean?"

The worst had been to see the shadows fall upon the green of Athena's eyes whilst her hands tightened harshly on the hilt of her sword and a breath left her lips, "I've never told anyone this," she had begun, shame coming over her features by the time the quick interruption to the little tale left in swift notes from worried lips, "No one but Lune, that is… because when all the treaty stuff happened I foolishly confided in him, and—I know, I made a stupid mistake, and now he's going to use it against me," she had quickly admitted, because Edmund's brows had risen in understanding, and a near-disappointed expression had come over his features before he even realised it; of course, the expression hardened by the time a heavy breath left his lips, and all he had allowed himself to do was nod in encouragement for his friend to continue. When she had, the sorrow had returned to her features, and her eyes had nearly refused to look into his, "On Earth, I…" She had gulped, worrying Edmund further and wondering for things he simply could no longer remember of the place they had all come from. "I think I died in a car crash… and I think that's why I'm here, in Narnia." Only until then did her eyes lift to look into his again.

Surprisingly, it hadn't taken a long time for Edmund's head to shake, "That can't be possible," he said, his frown deepening whilst his mind attempted to remember more of Earth than he could, which, in truth… "I don't remember much of it, but I'm pretty sure we didn't die when we came in, unless we could die of coat suffocation, but I doubt it. We're alive, so you must be alive there, too, because it's a consistent timeline, I think…" Were that he could ask Aslan for the answers, but all he had been able to do that day had been to hope selfishly that his best friend wasn't dead elsewhere, so that maybe, one day a long time from then, if they ever did go back, he could see Athena even out there. "I don't know why you're here, but I do know it's for a reason, just like us." Whatever that reason, Edmund thought, he'd rather not think of his leaving Narnia, especially when it seemed that he never would.

"Yeah, well," Athena had continued, pulling him as much away from his terrified reverie as herself from the memories she simply refused to head back into, "That's a whole other story for another day." Whether it was for her own comfort or for the sake of what had truly worried her since that little unwanted adventure in Pevenway, Athena's arms lifted to cross under her chest. "I don't feel comfortable talking about it right now."

As ever, respectful and well comforted to not have to speak too much about any sort of emotion with anyone that wasn't Juliet, Edmund had nodded his agreement and forced all thoughts of Earth away from his mind, "That's fine with me, yet…" his eyes narrowed for as much the worry that had even driven him to look for his best friend in the first place as the curiosity of what could come. "I'm sensing a but… does it have to do with Lune, or…?"

Athena had nodded, "Yeah, it does." Whatever discomfort that had taken over her before simply disappeared, and before the Just King stood simply the worried General, no longer the girl who thought of what might have happened to her before she had reached Narnia in the first place, "The problem is that, whilst he was threatening me, he also told me something else that worried me."

A heavy breath left from Edmund's lips, "What's he done now?" Even he didn't think he wanted to know, but for the sake of the realm, and knowing what truly had kept Athena so quiet during the first half of the day, he had to ask.

"I think he's in some sort of agreement with Calormen," The General had easily confessed.

The annoyance in Edmund's heart had been as evident as the roll of his eyes and the heavy breath that accompanied the single word, "Brilliant." Even his arms had fallen in despair, and any single hope for the peace he had wished to keep,  _at least_  until after his wedding to Juliet, had disappeared completely.

"But, look, I have a weird feeling about it." Athena had easily continued, her heart heavy, and her eyes wondrous on the young King's, "Lune doesn't have the strength to attack us again after the battle of Glasswater Creek, so I have a feeling that this little agreement of his is a little one sided; I mean, why would Calormen make a deal with Archenland when it's pretty much resourceless after the battle?" She wondered, finally speaking her own worry out loud and thereafter noting the same sort of wonder in Edmund's eyes. "They've no military, no money to spend on it, no metals that won't take months to mine, no nothing, so why would Calormen agree?"

Why, indeed, Edmund wondered; why but for one reason alone: "To get some sort of power over them."

It had been nothing but the confirmation of what Athena herself had feared, "I think they're going to double-cross Archenland," she had told him with the air of worry that had not left her from the very second he had seen her that morning at breakfast, "They'll betray whatever treaty they have and invade; it makes complete sense for them to do that if we're looking at the Tisroc's history." And there it had been, the very reason of Athena Ashdown's worry: another attempt at invasion, but this time from Calormen.

If they double crossed Archenland, defeated them, and then soon after attempted to invade Narnia, then the Calormen would end up gaining the power of the entire northern and eastern lands, making those from across the dead sea the most powerful in hopes of invading Ettinsmoor as well; suddenly, Edmund had understood the reason behind Athena's worry. "You're right, but…" he had had to gulp the knot the concern had brought upon his throat; after all, at the time of the conversation, he had been weeks away from marrying Juliet, and he had known that if he allowed his mind to focus on the horrors that could come, he simply would not have been able to focus on the details of his wedding. "There's nothing we can do about it now; this will all take years to develop."

Athena had frowned at the prospect, "You think so?" Years upon years of worrying if Calormen would one day appear at the horizon in expectancy of invasion?

The young King had been able to do nothing more than nod and force the familiarity of a little smile onto his lips, "Next thing for you to study in that quest of yours to be the great General we already know you are," it had even taken a bit of an effort to keep the grin with everything that suddenly weighed upon his mind, "Historical Relations Between Archenland and Calormen," he'd told her, "you'll find out betrayal runs in the fossils those countries are built upon."

All Athena had left to do had been to sigh, "So what we've got to do now is just wait it out?"

The heaviness of Edmund's entire disposition had been enough to match Athena's as he nodded and lifted his shoulders in defeat, "Unfortunately." And so it had been; Edmund had dealt with the wedding, Athena had returned to her duties, but every single worry about Calormen and Archenland had remained. And now there they were, with a little more than half a year gone after that conversation, with Edmund happily married to Juliet, and everything else seemingly built in harmony within Narnia, and still, both best friends remained wary of the peace they knew could not last much longer regardless of how happy everyone else seemed to be; the first of the three reasons the Just King headed to the Northern wing that late Autumn afternoon.

Juliet, of course, by heavy attempts of her husband, didn't know a thing about the worries of him and Athena, and yet his wariness had found means of reaching her dreaming mind; though none of it had anything to do with the wellbeing of the country, of course, for she believed the peace to remain with Lark in Cair Paravel, alongside Juno and Prince Corin, but still, the wariness was there. Her reasons were much more personal than the heavier country-wrecking ones that kept Athena and the Just King wary, personal enough to be literally of the bedroom, for there had apparently passed enough time for Queen Susan and King Peter to tell the only married couple in Cair Paravel about the other little tradition in Narnian married couples: that they should start sleeping in separate bedrooms the way the other royal couples had done before them. Of course, all their suggestion had achieved was make the wedded pair fall quiet and forlorn, simply for the reality that the whole situation had made them feel, like Juliet had put it so plainly the very night it had been suggested once they had been alone in their bedroom, as if just as they both thought their world had been put to rights, a brand new obstacle rose within the bliss of what was to be their married life; granted, her wording of such a thing had been much more candid and poetic that all Edmund had been able to do was laugh away the anger that had rose from Susan's suggestion, but the truth of her intention had remained. After all, they hadn't slept apart even while they were secretly together, and for it both King and Queen thought the idea of a separate bedroom completely idiotic; and while Edmund had been able to feign calmness and pretend to be okay with the idea until he was able to speak to Peter about it (not to mention the much more dire Archenland secret situation), soft Queen Juliet simply had absolutely no experience hiding her emotions, making her so solemn, serious, and smiling only during necessary duty-led situations that more than half of those who worked under her worried if something had gone awry within the happiness of the married couple.

It had been almost a week since the little suggestion had come up, and finally Edmund had found the time in his busy schedule to slip away in direction of the Northern wing, knocking upon the door of his older brother's private reading room, and finding his mind well settled on the ease with which he expected to handle the three little situations that had led him there that afternoon; all he knew by the time Peter's voice told him to go inside the room, was that he would simply not leave the High King's private quarters until he knew he not only that he did not have to give up sharing a bedroom with his wife, but that a peace could be swiftly formed without giving away anything that Athena did not want Edmund to say to the High King. "Hey, you busy?" Edmund wondered the moment he closed the door behind him and allowed his feet to lead him in the direction of the empty chair before Peter's desk; it felt like only yesterday that the young King had sat there to try to convince Peter to give up his engagement to Juno Laelia.

"I'm always busy," came the reply from the High King, but the smile upon his lips, along the motion of his inviting hand toward the empty chair, told Edmund that no matter how busy he was, Peter would always have time for his younger brother. "All is well in the western realm, I hope?" His eyes returned to the little parchment he was filling up with ink and quill.

Edmund sat down just as a long breath left from his lips; it was hard to not jump right into the subject, but he wanted to be smooth about it, lead along with the very plan he had made up for the conversation so that perhaps he could shoot two enemies with the same arrow, "As far as I know, yes; the guard's still heavier on Susan's side than on mine, so nothing's new." He went along with his brother's words, and managed, as usual, a rather smooth bridge to bring the conversation easily towards the script he very much had prepared the night before, "But I'm here to talk about more personal issues, say, inside this castle." He even sat comfortable on the chair, slouching and everything.

Susan would be ashamed.

Just as Edmund had known he would, Peter looked up from his work, the worry mirrored upon the brightness of his blue eyes as he asked: "How personal?" One would think the High King himself had read the script inside his brother's mind for the ease with which he followed it.

It was all the young King could do not to smile, "You and Athena." His hands were resting upon his stomach by the moment Peter's eyes rolled and a soft groan left from his lips, "Come on," Edmund playfully said, smiling and speaking before his older brother could say anything to accompany his silent complaint. "You  _had_  to know the pressure would come eventually, I mean… you're killing us, Pete. A year? More? I think you two have courted each other longer than any monarch has ever courted anybody, and that includes me and Juliet."

"I thought you said you courted for two years," Peter countered, a side smile lifting his lips as he looked at his brother through his lashes.

Edmund quickly shook his head, "We were  _together_  for two years, we courted for less than a year," he admitted. "Honestly, by the year we were already basically married without the title." The thought alone would have made him blush if it weren't for his own security about his purpose in that room.

Peter looked back at the parchment he had returned to scribbling on, "Well, maybe, but you know Athena and I aren't just courting, Ed." He reminded him, "We're engaged, and that's definitely a little bigger."

It was Edmund's turn to roll his eyes, "It's not bigger when it's been a year; in fact, it's getting frustrating." He admitted, crossing his arms in perfect ploy upon his chest, "Just set a date already!" He exclaimed. "I don't understand why you're so hesitant."

There was something about being a sibling for nineteen years that made one know a person so well that they could even plan for their reactions, and so it showed then, at the use of that very word, that the very expected reaction from Peter Pevensie came along, making the young King's plan fall into line with the ease of a little ant on its way back to its home. "We're not hesitant," the High King said, forgetting the entirety of his work and even going so far as to placing the quill into the inkwell. "We love each other more than we ever have."

"Which is great," Edmund nodded, even lifting his hands by the sides of his head as if in defence against Peter's confession, "But you can't just be engaged forever." His hands fell onto his stomach once again; and though a little silence followed, it was heavy with the truth of what Edmund had spoken, and for it, it didn't really take too long within the silent battle of the stares between both Pevensies before Peter finally sighed heavily and moved to lean lazily against his own great chair. Edmund couldn't keep the smile away from his lips anymore, "You've got to face it, Peter." He told him in a note of feigned disappointment to match the expression on his face, "I mean, I appreciate that you didn't announce your engagement before Jules and I got married, but we _have_  gotten married, we have  _been_  married for half a year, in fact, so it's your time now, I don't know what the hell you've been waiting for; I would have even been okay with you announcing your engagement the day after Juliet's coronation."

The High King seemed to deflate upon his chair as the lazy echo of a breath escaped his lips once again, "It's just all the planning," He groaned, making Edmund feel like he was suddenly the parent telling his child that he had to take a bath; but he also couldn't say that he blamed Peter for the laziness that stopped him, after all, had he and Juliet not joked of elopement endless times after having to face the planning of their own wedding?

Still, "All you'd have to do is get fitted for clothes and work on a ring," And decide the colours that would illuminate the hall, and work on the coronation ceremony for Athena, and the food, and the seating, and… well, certainly speaking of everything wouldn't help Edmund's case, so he continued as if he hadn't thought of everything else. "Besides, you've never planned anything in your life, and I assure you, Susan wouldn't let this be your first time, she'll be doing most of the work, believe me."

And oh, Peter could believe him; after all, as the Right Hand he had had a front row seat to everything Edmund had had to do to prepare for his wedding, and Susan had not been too far behind putting in her foot whenever the young King got too carried away. Understanding simply fell from the High King's features as he nodded, and his hands crossed upon his chest the way Edmund's had before, "The problem is that I want it to be perfect this time," He said in the end. "I want it to be something both Athena and I think is perfect instead of that… tacky show of wealth that Susan was concocting when she was planning my wedding to Juno, and that will definitely require us both to plan with her." The complaint was still within his words.

Edmund had no other option for the little change on his previously thought script than to shake his head shortly, "I don't think she would try to make it extremely show-y," after all, his whole smooth plan depended on Peter agreeing to marry Athena Ashdown sooner instead of later. "The whole reasoning behind the 'tacky show of wealth' as you call it, was the fact that your marriage to Juno represented an alliance between two countries, but you saw how she managed my wedding; it was as perfect and simple as if Juliet and I had both been country people declaring our love to each other."

Peter couldn't do more than agree, but still, his lips pressed together shortly and a little breath left almost silent, "Yeah, well," even the words were low, only there for Edmund to hear, and barely even him, as if Peter had forgotten he was even in the room in the first place. "That's all I want."

It was a sort of emotion that the young King could work with, one where Peter so evidently rested there imagining what his wedding could be like; all Edmund had to do was push a little more… "So tell her," of course, his whole disposition attempted to even seem bored, as if his only purpose there had been to remind his brother that he was engaged and nothing else. "If that's the reason you've been putting the wedding off for so long, there's literally nothing stopping you now."  _Come on_ , Edmund urged in his mind, even if his eyes were barely even focused on a near-dreaming Peter right across from him, for the young King knew that a perfectly instantaneous peace would come from Peter and Athena's wedding the moment the engagement was even announced; what other thing could Lune hold over Athena's head if the public knew she was spoken for at last?

It felt like yet another long silence, but before too long, Peter finally spoke: "Fine," The young king was able to release the breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. "Yeah, you're right. I'll talk to her," Peter even stopped slouching, and a brand new light seemed to light up his features to match the smile upon his lips, happiness bringing a brand new glow onto the blue of his eyes. "To both of them; I want Athena to be as involved in this as possible."

To that, at least, Edmund had to let out a small laugh, "Well, it is her wedding too."

Though the smile countered the young Pevensie's sarcasm, Peter simply agreed, "Exactly," And picked up the quill once again.

"Brilliant," Edmund said full of perfect relief when the first half of his intended goals was achieved, and just as he had planned, he began to get up from the chair he had occupied, as if truly his only plans going into Peter's reading room had been to finally set a date for Peter and Athena's wedding. "Just," he began along the script, pausing his movements as he did, "for the love of all that's holy, don't let this public engagement be as long as the private one, Lucy and I couldn't handle it."

He was standing up by the time Peter's gentle laugh reached him regardless of the small pause he made on his work; some sort of loving expression crossed his features when he looked in Edmund's direction, "It won't be before the end of the year, if that's what you're hoping." He easily said with a brow raised.

Edmund's hands waved in front of him shortly to match the shaking of his head, "No, god no. Even Susan couldn't plan something that quickly," he joked. "But at least before the end of next year, please; even Queen Helen's Day if you wanna be sappy like that."

Peter's eyes rolled, but that smile of his gave away his own amusement and the gentle relief that he definitely could be seen to feel at finally agreeing to plan a wedding, "Thanks for the suggestion, I'll talk it over with Athena first if you don't mind." He returned to his work regardless of the young tone of camaraderie that kept his lips upturned.

"As long as you actually set a date sometime this week, you can talk with anyone you want." It had all gone so perfectly well regardless of the little derailment of Peter's that even by the time Edmund began walking away in the direction of the door there was a smile upon his lips that he simply could barely fight; and it was for it exactly that he took a little longer to manage the smoothness of his thoughts than he had planned in the beginning, "Hey…" he finally said after he had been able to force his smile away, enough to bring along the curiosity of his expression for Peter to see if he were to look in his direction when he turned to look at his older brother again, "…can I ask you a curious question?"

Of course, knowing a sibling for so long worked both ways, and it was for that very knowledge that Peter's gaze lifted warily in his younger brother's direction as he forced himself to stop writing for the sake of his perfect handwriting, "Sure…" but he sounded extremely cautious, as if he were expecting for the catch of a horrible joke to come.

Apparently he had forgotten to doubt Edmund's intentions at least for a little bit, "Just, out of curiosity, you know…" Innocently, the young king had counted on that forgetfulness of his older brother's; after all, he might well be reformed, ready to redeem himself for the horrors he had brought onto his family, even nine years after the fact, but he was still the cunning fellow that had managed to get the first place in spelling simply by proving that the classmate that had originally won first place had had one answer wrong (not that he could remember that anymore). "When you get married to Athena, seeing is as it's so close now and you should probably plan for the future…" It was that cunning boy that fully faced his brother now, bringing his little plan to a heed onto the most personal subject he meant to speak of in the first place… "Do you think you will be completely okay with the tradition of sleeping in separate bedrooms?"

And so it was that Peter finally understood; it seemed ridiculous to him that he had not, but it all made perfect sense as his eyes fell to his work, the quill found its way back to the inkwell, and a breath easily escaped heavy from his smiling lips. "You little…" He began, lifting a hand to hide the amused smile that grew with the realisation of what Edmund had done, and finding the ease to lean back onto his chair once more. "You are bloody ridiculous, you know that?" Of course, by the time he looked back in his brother's direction, there was a little knowing smile lifting the corners of his lips.

A smile that broke into a soft apologetic laugh by the time the young King stood expectantly with crossed arms in front of the High King, "Can you blame me?" He wondered, thankful his plan had come full circle and worked as perfectly as he thought it would; yes, he was still the same Edmund from before, but at least now his mischievous plans worked for good. "You wouldn't have been able to see it from my point of view unless you knew you'd have to face the same soon enough." The amusement in Peter's features remained as his head shook, and the silence of his own mirth only truly encouraged Edmund to bring every speck of his case to light, "I mean, I could have told you that Juliet literally told me that she didn't care if she had to sleep under my bed, no one would stop her from sleeping in the same room as me; or I could have told you that I refuse to creep across entire wings of the castle to visit my wife; both arguments that are entirely true, but still, you know you wouldn't have listened."

Stubborn as he was, Peter had to allow the amusement that took over him for his brother's knowledge of his own mind; in fact, before long, he even found himself nodding in agreement to either the accusation, or the expectancy that so evidently kept Edmund glued to his spot, "Fine, then; what do you have in mind about it? Since you've clearly given this so much thought." Oh, Peter did not have to prompt Edmund any more than that; ideas the young King had in piles, so all that remained was for the boy to return to the seat he'd left, and release every single idea metaphorically onto the table that literally rested before the two.

In the end, the agreement was thus: for the sake of public knowledge and the tradition they had all managed to mostly keep with the wedding and the coronation, Juliet would have her own room in the Western wing, but privately, she could either use it to sleep, as a place to keep anything that she couldn't find a place for in Edmund's royal room, or as her own private reading room, it didn't matter, so long as the public knew the room existed and Juliet could be found within it sometimes. The royal couple could evermore sleep on the same bed and live in the same room and tradition would otherwise still be kept in the eyes of nobles and Narnians; and so would Athena and Peter when the time came.

What mattered the most by the time night came and the young King was able to hold Juliet in his arms again, was that just as Edmund had planned when he'd thought of going to see his brother: the peace of Narnia had been secured by Peter's agreement to finally make his engagement to Athena public, his happiness was clear in its entirety, and Edmund's own private life with Juliet had no reason to be bothered ever again; making it so that everything was finally right in his world at last.

Thanked be Aslan; everything had gone perfectly according to plan.


	47. Chapter 47

─ ♚ ─

Just as it had been pleaded, even if through wittiness and a second purpose come two weeks prior by a sneaky brother, Peter Pevensie and Athena Ashdown had finally set a date for their wedding, and the knowledge of it was scheduled to be shared that very winter day, when nobles made their way into Cair Paravel, Edmund and Juliet excitedly spoke about the wedding that they would probably admit to have waited for as excitedly as their own (if not more, since they wouldn't be the centre of attention, thus not the ones that had to prepare the most for it), and Athena Ashdown simply refused to be present for the thought of avoidance of the reaction she thought would be of nothing more than absolute disgust from all nobles that appeared that morning for the announcement. Peter, of course, assured her that no noble would dare act even as little as surprised, but still, he had simply been unable to move the General, and for it, the subject of his affection, alongside his best friend, Lord Peridan—who had claimed he wanted to keep his sister safe—, and Princess Juno—who all involved had thought would be best to not be seen  _too_ presently for the announcement just in case any nobles  _did_ have a nasty response to the engagement and tried to force her back on Peter's hand—were gone on a horse ride through Pevenway with hopes not only of not returning until they knew all nobles had vacated the castle grounds, but perhaps also get some Christmas shopping done to take advantage of the rare freedom they had away from the Kings and Queens.

Edmund, of course, was smiling even by the time Athena and her companions left the castle, and that smile simply refused to disappear regardless of its discretion for the rest of the day; it had been there as the nobles arrived, it had been there while Peter told him and their sisters that they had better start heading to the throne room, and it stayed there even by the time he sat comfortably upon his throne holding Juliet's hand, who sat on a newly built throne that shared one armrest with his, matched in appearance, and looked as regal as his had even before he had sat upon it. He simply had to smile, because the idea of everything both he and his brother had gone through to find love simply seemed absolutely ridiculous when put to thought; sure, he had denied he even had a heart to give love from, he had denied he felt attracted to Juliet Capulet, he had convinced himself that he hated her, and in the end his dreams, his heart, and his every limb had simply denounced him for the love-sick royal he had been, but Peter… well, he hadn't exactly denied it, but he had been so absolutely blind to it that it had apparently taken him thinking Athena had been dead to even realise he had any feelings for her at all.

Edmund could still remember the way he had been teased by Peter, he could still remember the way  _he_ had endlessly teased Athena playfully onto feelings for his brother while they sparred, walked along the gardens, or even shared a private meal, "Before you and I know it," she had said one of those times, "Someone will find me strategically fit to marry elsewhere and this teasing will all be a thing of the past," the idea had made Edmund laugh and even go so far as to tell her that he'd rather marry her himself than let her be forced into some other marriage; but, of course, then, the conversation shifted onto the true disgust from them both at the very idea of getting married (for they were more adopted siblings than friends), and any other thought of Peter or Athena's feelings for him went forgotten into the wind. The general had  _also_ done her own fair share of teasing him when it came onto what once had been the nameless crush he had confessed to her about, but after that first ball, all sense of anonymity had gone out the door, and the teasing he simply denied and blushed onto had resumed whenever the immortal was in the room, or Athena was feeling specially evil; once, actually, she had even hinted at the idea of him getting married to Juliet, and Edmund had reacted so strongly within the denial, which had made his ears turn red, that the General had had a hard time stopping her continuous waves of laughter for a good five minutes.

And now there they all were, Edmund holding onto the hand of his  _wife_ , the very girl he had been teased about, Athena off on some adventure for the fact that she didn't want to entirely face the reactions of any noble that disliked her engagement to Peter, the one  _she_ had been teased about endlessly, and the High King himself standing up from the throne he had occupied for years looking more nervous than he had looked even at the moment of his coronation; if anything, Edmund would say Peter had looked specially smug as he was crowned King Peter,  _The bloody Magnificent,_ so seeing him slightly nervous only truly reassured the young King that the love claimed between his brother and his best friend was the true sort that he could very much be proud to think he had with Juliet as well. Everything felt so right that for once he truly had to fight hard against that dreadful feeling that something was about to go wrong, and he managed it well enough with the warm hold of his crowned wife, who wore her own concoction of silver and ruby atop her head the way he and his siblings wore their own, "I thank you all for coming," Peter finally said, pulling Edmund away from his proud study of Juliet, as the doors of the throne room were closed and all the nobles and friends stood about the room with curiosity written all over their features.

It took a little more than his called attention for Edmund to sit straight in his own throne, but in the end he did, and allowed the smile he'd been wearing the whole day to dissipate onto a more discrete version for the sake of his well known seriousness to preside over the whole meeting, "I am sure you all are wondering why I have called you here only two weeks away from the annual Christmas ball," The King continued, doing the wonderful task of addressing everyone in the room in that way only he seemed able to, "I'm sure you're worried that perhaps my news today are so dire I couldn't wait two more weeks to speak about it, but I assure you, my friends, the news I expect to share with you today are jolly and the complete opposite of what you might fear, for they will make me the happiest man in the world, and—"

A gentle clear of a throat interrupted the High King from behind him, "I'm sorry, Pete," Edmund said, no longer fighting against the smile that otherwise lifted his lips, "but that role's already taken."

The court laughed at the Just King's words even if Queen Susan basically glared at him with enough force that Edmund himself knew he'd have something to answer to later; but it was Lucy's short giggle that only encouraged the young King and made Peter's eyes roll with the amusement everyone in front of them did share; far be it for Peter to thank his younger brother for much, but at least his little jest had broken whatever tension the room had rested within and thereafter left a better environment for the High King to work with. Had he done such a thing on purpose? Well, later Edmund would say yes, "Titles aside," Peter resumed, looking away from his brother and toward all those other people who now smiled where before they had worried. "The news I bring you today are not ones you have not heard from my lips before, but where once my words spoke of nothing more than an alliance, now they speak of only the enormity of my devoted love, and is for it that I hope you will all be as happy for me as I am already, and that you will not judge my decision based on the country alone. Love brings me here, and I assure you all, love will make out country stronger yet, as it has from the moment my siblings and I were crowned." The whispers had already begun, the soft murmurs and echoes of shifting as all nobles' eyes searched the room for the person who so obviously was the subject of the High King's words; but no other woman stood on the throne platform other than the Queens of the realm, and the curiosity of all those present was so tangible that it made the young king nervous.

"You must all forgive me," the High King had to speak slightly louder than before, if anything, so all shifting gazes moved to look at him at once, "Today's announcement will not come within the normal tradition you are accustomed to, but I see no reason why I should make you wait any longer, so here it is:" He took a breath, the smile illuminating his features to the wonderful surprise of all who saw him, savouring the last moments when the extent of his relationship stopped being private, and simply spoke: "I am engaged to be married to the most wonderful Marchioness of the Great River Delta, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, and General of our loyal Narnian army, Lady Athena Ashdown;" The murmurs got a little louder the moment the name was spoken, but even through such a shock, Peter went on, "The date has been set, and the preparations have begun, for we will wed before the Lion's eyes on Queen Helen's Day, next year." The silence that had once been full of tension broke exactly at that moment, and a lot of reactions were clear to be noted; the most tumultuous were the cheers and clapping that came from all close friends of the royals alongside the many friendly nobles that had suspected the existence of their courting by the many times they had held business within the castle during the past year, but there was also the quiet sort coming from those few nobles that, like the General had feared, simply did not like the idea of the High King marrying for anything other than an alliance. They were a counted few, thankfully, but they were also the ones that had been so invested in the alliance with Archenland that Edmund did not take too long to make note of them just in case any of them chose to become a traitor or some sort of spy now that the news of the engagement was out; peace indeed would come to Narnia the moment the High King was married, but that did not entirely mean that  _something_ couldn't come to happen in the months between the announcement and Queen Helen's Day.

A truth fought against within the young King's mind, but one faced nonetheless for his ever doubtful and observant demeanour, which encouraged him to be well prepared for the absolute worst regardless of how much hope rested upon his heart that all things would go well from that day until the end of their lives; what was worse was that, just as Peter continued on telling everyone that they should feel free to spread the news of his engagement along the realm, the world decided to prove King Edmund right towards the terror of his mind, when the doors of the throne room busted open and the murmurs that had once been counted echoed throughout the whole of the room in reaction to the few Narnian soldiers that walked straight towards the platform the Kings and Queens rested upon; even Peter's smile dissipated upon their approach, and whatever sort of peace and happiness that had lit the room only seconds before became nothing but a memory.

"Your majesties," the centaur at the head of the group said alongside a bow the moment they all reached the now all standing royals of Narnia, "I beg you pardon us," he stood to look at them again, "But there are news from just outside of Pevenway: one of our soldiers has been killed, Lord Rochford was patrolling when he saw soldiers dressed in black murder the guard in cold blood at the edge of the small forest between Pevenway and the Castle; he was able to escape, but we think there's going to be an attack."

The murmurs along the room got louder as nobles began asking what was going on, and the panic rose upon the room when those close enough to the thrones passed along the message, but at that moment Edmund had no eyes or ears for anyone other than his family, "Soldiers dressed in black?" Lucy echoed as the hand that had lifted to rest onto her heart fell to reach for her best friend and Protector at once, "Assassins?"

"Worse, sister," Edmund told her immediately, holding onto Juliet's other hand and squeezing it for a moment before he let go, "King Lune just won't give up."

"Athena," It was the near panic in Peter's voice and eyes that shook Edmund's heart deep enough to think he finally hated someone since his attempts at redemption had begun, "She went with Peridan and Juno to the town; she would have taken the southern path, what if—"

"Any news from the General?" Susan interrupted at once, and Edmund was thankful, because the panic in their older brother's voice made him, for once, seem nothing like the High King he was, but the boy he had stopped being a long time ago; and though the news of Athena's possible encounter to danger could be perfectly understood even publically now that the news of their engagement was out, a panicked High King could only truly result in the fear of all those others who looked at him. Thankfully, he wasn't the only King or Queen in the realm, "Any news from Lord Peridan, or the Princess?" Susan continued whilst a hand lifted to attempt comforting her otherwise well panicked older brother; when the centaur's head shook, Susan's words echoed with a security that would make any who dared doubt the eldest Queen's strength tremble upon their place, "Right, then, I want a group of soldiers to head to Pevenway, protect all those that might be there, at any news of the General or her companions I want one of us to be informed; Ed," she turned away from the centaur to look to look at him, and all that met her was the frowned gaze that shadowed the young King's features, "you're in charge of the army in the General's absence, so  _be_  in charge, we all trust your judgement; Juliet, it would be best if you and those under your command took charge of the castle, it needs to be on lockdown  _immediately_ , I will keep the nobles here; we must feed them, entertain them, do whatever we need to do to keep them here; I'm sure we all don't want any more blood spilled than necessary. Lucy—"

"I'll get the horses ready and meet Peter and Ed with a small defensive party at the main gate." She nodded.

"Perfect," and just like that, the peace and joy that had driven all nobles and royals to the castle and the throne room were gone, supplanted by the panic of all those outside of their conversation and every single echo of all those within it agreeing with the Gentle Queen, who easily began moving with a smile and the softness that was known to her to attempt appeasing all those within the room to calm.

Edmund, of course, didn't take a long time to do exactly as he had been told by giving his wife a soft kiss on her right temple, telling her to be careful, and quickly pulling his older brother along with him out the side of the room, using the same door he used on the day of his wedding to head out instead of in, and keeping everything except the strategy of what the army should do away from his mind; because if he allowed all of his thoughts to invade it, then the hate he had been fighting against for years, one which he had saved only for the horrid White Witch that had so easily lured him into almost giving her his siblings' lives, would escape through every single fibre of his being, and revenge onto the stubborn King who refused to leave the Pevensies to peace would be the one to drive him forth instead of the need he held of protecting his realm alongside his siblings. It would be so easy to head back into that mentality, so easy to step backwards instead of forwards until the very  _darkness_ Aslan had spoken to him about upon his rescue, what felt like a lifetime prior, turned completely within his mind and shadowed every single thing he had done for redemption and instead turned it onto the very sort of hateful mentality that had led him to sell his family off for some enchanted sweets; indeed, the fear of turning back into the very monster he had been threaded through every single one of his blocked off thoughts, and that fear alone worked well enough to keep him grounded and focused on all those things he had to think of to tell the soldiers for the good of the realm, instead of all those that could easily drown him deep into the self-doubt that only Juliet Capulet truly knew about.

It wasn't until the sun began its long decent upon the horizon that the Kings, the young Queen, and all those chosen to be within the little party Lucy had made left the Narnian grounds in search of the source of attack, with the greatest half of the army having been instructed to form a line along the perimeter of the castle so none could either come in or out, and the other half heading over to each of the borders for protection or defence against any stranger that happened to head in the castle's direction; but even worse, it was not until the very next morning—when all had begun worrying for those in the castle and began thinking Athena, Juno and Peridan truly lost—that any news of a good sort finally reached the Kings and Queen by the kind word of a villager that claimed to have seen three people tied upon a tree within the woods mentioned in the first news of the attacked soldier. It didn't take long for all to head in that direction regardless of the guilt that almost equally weighed upon their hearts at the thought that they had spent all that time securing the Narnian borders instead of investigating the forest that had caused the issue of the day in the first place; Peter was devastated, riding with almost haunted eyes surely for the memory of the condition in which Athena Ashdown had been found upon the first time she had gone missing, and Edmund, the one who kept further back within the group, could go on with nothing more than a frown as the minutes passed along much faster than he would have liked, because the more time that passed, the higher the possibility was that his best friend had been hurt severely: he believed on luck leading them to find her when she could still be saved once, the second time, though…

He almost already expected her to be dead.

And, of course, as they went, the worst part of the situation was the specific guilt the young King felt at the ease with which he had kept the secret of Athena's kidnapping earlier in the year, because if Peter had known, then they  _all_ would have been able to be more careful and maybe Athena, Peridan, and Juno would not be missing now; in fact, the guilt served as a reminder of every speck of self-doubt he had been fighting against from the day prior, because it served as a scream within his mind that told him: indeed, if Athena Ashdown was found dead then there was no one to blame but him; he who had kept the continuous attacks of a stubborn King from his siblings for the sake of friendship, he who had known the peace they had been living in was temporary while all else thought it to be eternal, he who had so foolishly listened to the steadfast General and believed she would take extra precautions for all she knew. It was a guilt that almost drove Edmund mad by the time they all finally reached the edge of the southern woods past Pevenway and found nothing but the remnants of broken ropes and a couple of drops of blood on the snow by the side of one tree; it only led the Just King to force himself away from the awareness of the rear of the group to gallop ahead until he could reach his older brother—who had led the group in direction to Cair Paravel, the way Athena and her companions would have most likely gone if they'd escaped, which was what he hoped had happened by hint of the broken ropes—with the intents of telling him everything he had known until then; would he doubt him again after that? Would everything he had done to fix the horrors of his past be forgotten? "Pete, I need to talk to you," If it did, at least his honesty  _now_ would give him a little bit more of a break even if it was just from his own mind. "I haven't told you, and I should have done so before, but I—"

"Shh!" Peter interrupted him, and the frown upon the middle of his forehead became enough for Edmund to worry that perhaps he had already known he'd been hiding more than he had spoken; it was a fear that did not last longer than a single beat, because the High King's body shifted upon his horse to motion to everyone behind him to stop their advances so all sounds around them could be heard. Surrounding them was the breeze of winter, the echoes of the few animals that remained out and about even within the snows of Narnia, the breaths of those around him, and Edmund's own, which sounded specially loud to his own ears, but then…

Voices.

At first they were no more than the grunts of a fight come from the near edge of the forest, where the castle grounds would begin, but then the noises stopped, and before anyone could truly do anything about it, one voice echoed louder than anything else; speaking where the others had gone silent, and even laughing almost insanely after, " _Have you come to mock me, sister?_ " Peter's eyes almost immediately met Edmund's in a panicked stare; they didn't even wait to hear the rest of King Lune's words before the three Pevensies began leading their little party forward, as silently as they could, through the last of the small forest the divided the town from the castle.

It had almost been too late when they finally arrived to the scene—wich was perfectly visible by the soldiers standing guard upon the gates a couple of meters away alongside Susan with her arrows, Juliet with her daggers, and all those nobles that stood just behind them almost gawking at the image before them—but not late for those Lucy, Peter and Edmund so loved, for Peridan stood perfectly safe by Princess Juno's side with a bloody sword in his hand to match the small dagger she held loosely in one hand, and Athena stood victorious with her own bloody sword risen well by the side of her face, pointed in the direction of the heart for whose owner time would have proven too late had the royals not arrived in time; it was King Lune who lay sprawled upon the snow with a hand lifted in defence as Athena's sword stood ready to strike at any second, he who starred in fear at the warrior above him, she with the wild hair, bloodied sword and angry eyes; it was he who whimpered shortly and easily became drowned by the loud words of the General of the Narnian Army and future High Queen: "LONG LIVE THE KING!" He who heard the cheers of all the Narnians behind the line of Queens and soldiers at the warrior's words as the sharpness of her blade began making its lethal way down towards his heart…

"NO!" It was King Lune who was saved by the loud echoes of the High King's voice when he and all those behind him finally reached the scene.

Athena's sword nearly hadn't been able to stop in time, but it did, and the eyes of every single Narnian present turned in the direction of the coming party; the air was heavy with the danger Peter had broken, and though Edmund could not take his eyes way from Juliet at first, safe and sound by Susan's side at the head of the soldiers guarding the entrance to Cair Paravel's grounds, he still noticed the regret with which his older brother's breath was freed and his words left him, "We mustn't…" Even his eyes seemed regretful by the time the young King did look in his direction. "We must spare his life."

Any cheers that had echoed before died by the time Peter's last words had come, and instead of Athena speaking, it was her adopted brother, Peridan, voicing for all the shock of his request, "Your majesty!" Even his already pale face began to look whiter as his feet took him a couple of steps further away from the topaz skinned princess at his side.

But the High King did not look at him at all; instead, Edmund watched as his brother's eyes danced between Athena and the King on the snowy floor even by the time his feet hit the ground with a muffled thud after dismounting his horse. "He's a father," he said, his head shaking and his hands easily moving to reach for the General's by the time he spoke again, "He has a son." Well, that was not reason enough for Edmund to not kill the man who had not only tried to kill them, but had actually been a reason his wife had suffered a short, temporary, and very painful death.

And though Athena and Peter looked at each other wholly as the sword was pushed away from her hands by him, another voice joined the conversation in a note much more in tune to Edmund's mind than Peter's had been: "Let  _me_ kill him, then." To everyone's surprise, it had been Princess Juno herself, looking, regardless of the time she had spent tied to a tree, as beautiful as ever whilst also deadly with the little dagger she continued to hold tightly in her hand.

To Edmund's silent disappointment, Peter finally turned to look at her with the severity of his voice perfectly mirrored in his eyes, "Do  _you_ want to be the cause of turning an innocent young boy into an orphan?" Well, who could possibly want to argue with that? "Especially when you even brought him here to protect him?"

"Kill me!" King Lune said from the floor, finally gaining some courage after the sword had been removed from his face and trying to at least sit up to gain some sort of dignity under everyone's eyes, "Kill me, Peter; if I cannot be an ally, nor an enemy to Narnia, then you  _must_ kill me and rid me of my ambition to become one or the other."

The High King's scoff resonated to all who could hear it, "Indeed, kill you and bring war to Narnia for having executed the Archenland King? I don't think so."

A light even seemed to go out of the Archen King's eyes by the denial of his request, but Edmund's observance was so detailed that he was sure no one else truly noticed it other than he and Peter, for shortly after, barely a couple of beats after Peter had stopped speaking, the echo of a throat being cleared made everyone look in the direction of its owner: Peridan had taken a couple of more steps away from the Princess and seemed perfectly ready to give a speech; "If I may," he begun, standing tall like he always did when a peck of advice was about to leave his lips, "There might be another way to end this once and for all," but he did not continue speaking, clearly waiting for his High King's say to even continue at all.

But, god, Edmund simply did not have the patience for formalities; not that day. "Well, what is it?" He wondered, forcing himself to dismount Phillip the moment Lucy dismounted as well.

His allowance seemed to be enough for Peridan to continue, "I was Narnian born, and Archen raised during the winter of the White Witch, and I know one thing:" he said, looking from Edmund to Peter, Athena, and Lune at once. "An Archen King does not break a promise; ever, so—"

A single scoff interrupted the Lord's words, "Your man speaks true, High King," but even the title sounded mocking from Lune's lips; he truly was not helping himself, if anything could be said by the glare Peter gifted him. "Not once have I lied to your face; not once have I broken my promises," his head shook, "Unlike yourself."

"No; that is not what I—" Peridan attempted.

But King Lune clearly thought his own words were more important, " _Everything_  I have done since you broke your Narnian promises has been because of your mistrust," he spat, fixing his coat around his shoulders regardless of the snow that had already seeped through his trousers. "I am only a seeker of revenge," he continued, "Of  _justice_ ; you declared your lies, you declared the ending of an alliance unannounced, and I could only retaliate."

It was Edmund's turn to scoff, "By sending assassins?" He wondered, fighting hard against his need to reach for his sword regardless of everything he had been struggling against from the previous day, because, if he was honest, if all the Archen King had done had been for  _justice,_ then he, as  _The Just King_ , had a couple of things to teach him by the song of his steel sword; maybe then Lune of Archenland would learn the  _true_ meaning of justice. "By starting an invasion, and even after you lose, by trying…" he even motioned with disdain to the bodies of those whose lives Peridan, Juno and Athena had clearly ended before they had even been able to reach the guard line meters away, "…whatever this was?"

At least Lune had the decency to look ashamed, "I admit, my… methods, were rash…"

Edmund's hand only tightened on the hilt of his sword as a snort escaped his lips, "That's one word for it."

But Peter spoke up before any of the two could truly respond to the young King's sarcasm, "This is  _my_ fault," he said, still holding onto one of Athena's hands by the time he turned to face the king on the ground fully. "So let me make it right, right here and now; the Treaty of Beruna is over, but we could make another treaty," he vowed. "One I  _will_ keep my word to, no matter what; we can reopen the Archen-Narnian trade; we can be allies once again, and if I break my word, I will open the gates of the castle for you to retaliate myself."

With discretely narrowed eyes, Edmund watched as Lune's lips lifted almost satisfactorily to the offer made, "My sister must also get her marriage as a part of this new agreement."

"No, I don't." The words had come from Princess Juno's lips before Peter had even been able to say a thing; in fact, his lips had parted, but not a word left them by the time his eyes, shocked, moved in her direction the way probably everyone else's had as well. "The High King is engaged to be married to the Marchioness… to my  _friend_ ," the only thing that could give way the Princess' fear for the way she so boldly spoke in front of her royal brother was the way her eyes lifted from the snow on the ground to look only in his direction, "They love each other; and like them, I can only hope that one day I will marry for the same; but it will be to whoever I wish, and in  _my own_ time." She gulped. "So keep me out of this deal."

Edmund could have hugged her then, but instead, all he could do was look in Lune's direction as his steps led him closer to him; "We have fought enough," he forced himself to say, as much for the note the conversation had taken as for the strength he found within his heart to push his  _own_ sense of justice for the King to take; the sort he had been working  _toward_ instead of against. "Let us have peace; we will have a better alliance than the one we had, you will have our support when needed, as we will have yours."

"And you will leave us alone," Athena added with a hard note that made Edmund proud, even after he had set the peace for the King to take, "Forevermore, unless your presence or aid is sought after."

Everyone's eyes rested on Lune, then, the silence weighed down with the possibilities of what the single answer could make or break, "What do you say?" Peter asked; but even through the little tension that remained, Edmund knew the Archen King had to understand their offer of a new treaty was a mercy he did not deserve. After all, he was alone in the middle of Narnian land, with his only sister entirely on their side and a sword having been shortly prior removed from a lethal blow to his heart; for good or bad, bloodless peace had been offered, well onto his claim to wish to be an enemy  _or_ an ally, he had absolutely no other option than to take it.

For it, Edmund himself offered the King a hand, with eyes as knowing as Lune's were defeated, and before too long, the Archen King finally moved: to take the offered hand, and stand from the snowy ground that would otherwise have become his last resting place, "You have my word." He said, and it almost felt like a communal sigh of relief went up to the heavens when he did; by the time the cheers and claps came from the nobles standing behind the line of Queens and soldiers, every member of the little party and the ones who had been otherwise interrupted by them were smiling, and all the cheerful commotion near them served to make them all remember that they had all been heard; thus, if they broke their word, they would have more than fifty different witnesses to speak against them at once.

Needless to say, after the resolute peaceful display before them, absolutely no noble wished to disagree with the High King's engagement to Athena Ashdown ever again.


	48. Chapter 48

─ ♚ ─

The mind could be a completely treacherous thing, and if there was anyone that knew such a fact better than all it was Edmund Pevensie, he who was the justice of the realm and found himself face to face with people who spoke nothing  _but_ treachery; a very fact that had worked against him that doubtful morning after waking from another nightmare and leaving his beautiful wife sleeping upon their loving bed, when prisoners within his jail (the castle's jail, really, but everyone called it his) whispered things into his ears that quite logically he knew could not be true and usually he ignored, but the deep horrors within his mind that day easily allowed him to think they were real. A rumour created solely to vex him in such a way that it impossibly had, and thus slipped carelessly into the confines of his mind until the thought, regardless of its idiocy, ended up feeling so completely real that a familiar sense of anger rose within his heart and made him feel capable of anything; it didn't matter how much he had lived accepting the wonders his life had brought him, it didn't matter how much he had worked to understand that he  _did_  deserve the love given to him, upon that day, the nightmare that had shaken him only mixed with the whispers of the prisoners, and everything within his mind began to fall apart until all he had been able to do at the end of that day was stand outside his chamber door for quite a while, knowing Juliet rested within, and trying to prepare himself for the very confrontation the poison of every single prisoner had placed within his mind and made necessary.

It was as if the fear of everything he had seen within that dream had placed a mist in his mind deep enough that it made everyone else's harrowing words illogically feel real, and for it the anger that drove him remained unfoundedly comprehensible as he wriggled his hands at his sides whilst what little part of his mind that knew he was wrong to even  _be_ angry tried to calm him down for the sake of the happiness he had found within his love for Juliet and their marriage; but even that little part of his mind had been unable to stop him, unable to bring him to the truth of the poisonous words that had worked against him that day, unable to bring his heart to heed and halt his hand from reaching for the door handle with a tight grip that easily turned the knob and let him into the room. The image he saw there should have been enough to stop him, it should have been able to do as it had done endless times and brought him to the truth of the wrong he carried within his heart; it was Juliet, sitting peacefully upon their chair by the window, looking as beautiful as she had ever done in her soft white night grown whilst resting in the place he knew better than anyone in the castle had become her favourite, because it was, as she had told him once, the place where she could see the outside world merely by a gentle tilt of her head, the place where, by a single shift of her posture, the confinements of the room stopped becoming trapping and the freedom of the world she loved so dearly was truly as hers as her mind refused to let her believe it was; it was the place where she could find the very sort of peace she had only been able to find in the forests or his (their) library before.

And it was a peace he was about to break.

Even that thought alone didn't work to put out the fire of his rage entirely, but it worked enough to make him close the door of their room gently behind him instead of slamming it the way he had planned to do moments before, to allow her a couple of more moments of beloved peace as he moved to begin unbuttoning his shirt the way he did every night to change into his night clothes; it was not too late, he could still stop himself from letting his fear drive him so unfairly and unnecessarily towards things he logically knew could not be true, he could still greet her the way he always did, tell her of everything he had feared, do anything but what the poison in his mind wished him to… yet no logic could reach his mind, not that night, not after that nightmare, not after everything that had even kept him away from her for the entirety of the day. In the end, the treacheries won, and even the setting of his clothes upon the chair felt too harshly against the peace of the night, which easily disappeared the moment he finally spoke. "I saw you spent quite a lot of time with him again today," the words even felt wrong, but he couldn't stop them; he was so angry, he was so tired, he was so scared, "Did you…" He turned on his feet, looking over in her direction, who finally seemed to have been pulled away from the book she had been reading; and god, her smile, that little lift of her lips… why couldn't that be enough to stop him, why couldn't that be enough to make him stop his words before the little smile on her beautiful face could disappear? "Did you dance again?" No luck; his words simply would not stop. "Did you know there are people who think you both look at each other like—like you  _want_  each other?"

And there it was, the disappearance of her smile, the gentle little frown that shadowed her features, the way her hands so almost automatically moved upon the book to place a bookmark on the place she had left off, "Edmund…" she began, and her hands moved soft on the cover of the book to close it, "I do not understand, what are you—"

But the young King simply would not heed, "No," he said seconds before his steps took him closer to her with the sort of wrongful anger he simply couldn't put a stop to, "You know, if you  _love_ him—if you love him now after all this time, then you best say so now, because he's engaged, and  _you_ 're married, and I'm telling you now, Juliet, it's either me, or him." He spat, and it seemed finally that single accusation was enough to bring the sort of shadow into her eyes that he had not seen in a long time; not since the last time he thought he had hated her. "It's either me, or my brother, so choose."

It would have been easier to see her physically hurt than facing the disappointment mixed with anger that she showed him then, as her incredulity finally allowed her feet to support her away from the chair whilst her hands abandoned the book on the place she had been using, "What has gotten into you?" She wondered at once with the tone of clear hurt that led her to step closer to him, "Thy  _brother_?" Oh, spoken through her lips it sounded as ridiculous as it had sounded to him two weeks prior, when the rumour began to spread within the jail, "Think'st me thou truly so  _feeble_ as to not be able to do something if my heart rested with someone else?" She wondered, hurt enough for the softness he had seen only moments ago to so clearly disappear, "Think'st me thou so  _evil_  as to pretend to love thee for so long if my heart hath rested with him?

Aye, indeed, naught but a monster am I if such be true, and wouldst thou feel better then? Nay, to think the woman thou hast trusted with thy heart, with thy life, hath proven thee right at last: no one is good, all are evil!" Her head shook, those long brown ringlets of hers dancing with her motions, her eyes were full of hurt, of sadness, of disappointment, and by Aslan, it made him stop, it made him feel guilty, it made him feel as if every single thing he had said had been even more ridiculous than he had thought, it made him, at last, think.

Oh, what had he done? "N-no, I…" He tried to start.

But it was simply too late. "Aye! I have spent plenty of time with thy royal brother today, dancing indeed as he hath requested it, for if thou might remember well, he is engaged and completely in love with thy best friend, remember her? She who can claim the title of best dancer in the realm?" She nodded, and Edmund's eyes simply fell; he could simply no longer look at her. "Aye, her; he asked me to help him become a better dancer, so he might be worthy to dance with her, and so thy bloody gossipers would know if they wouldst but stop a moment and paid attention; or better yet, minded their own business.

But if I  _loved_ him, as thou hast so hastily come to accuse," She nearly spat, making the young King feel even worse than he had felt even than morning; because at least that morning, the disappointment had only been in his dreams. "Then I assure thee,  _husband,_ that I wouldst nay'r be resting here, reading by thy bed, but wouldst instead be by his, married to him after having accepted his proposal when it hath come, or hast thou forgotten that such a thing happened, too?"

Perhaps it had been too much, but he suddenly felt like that awful child he had been once again; how could he not feel selfish and treacherous when Juliet Capulet had done nothing but show him love in ways he never thought he would be shown and he had repaid her with accusations based on fear and insecurity? His head shook in as much reply to her question as the disappointment he finally felt onto himself; he loved her so much, and there rested even another reason for it present even within her words, words that had turned the case against him, like a game of chess. His Queen, the smart girl whose strength and wit had been able to use his own strategy against him many more times than just this once; only, this time, it was not a game. He truly had screwed things up, "No; no, Juliet, you are…" She was a force to be reckoned with, a woman of wisdom and guidance, she was smart, she was strong, she was everything he ever wished to be and for more than only those reasons Edmund Pevensie had fallen in love with her. "You are not feeble, you are not evil, you are my Queen, and I haven't forgotten, I just…" He gulped, for there was a knot in the middle of his throat that begged to mute him; but he fought it, and even attempted to reach for her hands, "I'm just an envious idiot whose mind is so clouded that I… No, that's no excuse, I'm just… I'm sorry, I... please, I don't know—that's a lie, I know exactly—I just needed to hear you say that..." But there was simply nothing more he could force out of his lips; what exactly did he need her to say?

It was a fact that Juliet herself could perfectly wonder for her knowledge of the boy, and one that truly baffled her and confused her over the whole accusation and anger, which had come on so suddenly and unexpectedly, that it had even made that magical heart of hers feel as if it had been about to stop; such an unfounded feeling considering everything the pair had been through, everything Peter and Athena themselves had been through to even get to being months away from getting married, and yet, somehow, someone had gotten deep into her husband's mind enough to make him think that perhaps even all of those things everyone had been through had been for nothing… how? How could it be possible that he could accuse her and then shortly after call her his queen—a word that still felt strange when spoken in her direction, for it was as easy as breathing to forget that, yes, in her little magical world, she was indeed a royal—whilst almost silently begging her to tell him that… what? What exactly could make that situation feel like it made any sense? "Thou needst to hear me say that any affection I might feel for thy brother be but the kind I would have for a brother of mine own?" She wondered, finally sounding less hurt but more completely confused as her eyes fell to their held hands and the strength with which he held her; as if he were pleading, as if he were hurt. "The kind I wouldst but have for someone of mine own blood?" She continued, allowing those soft soled shoes of hers to lead her even closer in his direction as to almost make all distance between them disappear, young amber eyes lifting to focus only on his, as if merely by such a gaze all her thoughts could fall into his mind.

"Yes," Edmund replied quite quickly; "No, I—I don't know."

Juliet didn't wait for him to make up his mind, "For it is," she assured him, "I love him as I love Susan, as I love Lucy, but ne'er as I love thee, and thus I assure thee with my heart in thy palm, that thou need not be envious, for my heart belongs only to thee, I have sworn thus long before we married."

And so she had; Edmund could remember the way she told him, all those times she smiled, all those times she reached for him during the secrecy of their relationship, all those times that she looked at him as if she simply couldn't get enough of him. Hell, he need not even go so far as that because there she was then: looking at him, the boy King, as if he were the only tether to life she really had even though he truly had only just hurt her with the accusation he had given; somehow, the forgiveness rested already in the softness of her amber eyes, the gentle touch of her hands, and he just felt even more guilty, more stupid. He hated his own mind for playing tricks on him, for leaving him so vulnerable to the whispers of untrustworthy prisoners, for being so absolutely crippled by doubt regardless of all those years he had worked to fix it; he just didn't know it would be something he would have to keep work on possibly for the rest of his life. "Yes," he said, his eyes falling to their hands whilst the coldness of his own guilt drove him to wish to walk away from her at once, "That's—I think that's exactly it." Thus, he kissed her hands softly, and finally let them go before he could say or _do_  anything else that would make the guilt building stones within his heart feel worse than it already did.

It is for it that he turned away from her almost immediately, leaving her and the confusion in her features behind so he could move towards the little basin by the side of their bed, a place where she couldn't see his face when it twisted in pain, disappointment and self-hatred regardless of the cold water that he forced himself to splash the way he did almost every single night, "I'm sorry," he said, eyelashes wet with as much the water as the tears he simply hadn't been able to push back. "I won't let it bother me again, I swear."

But regardless of how hard he had tried to make the motion soft, the suddenness of it found itself hard to not be hurt by for gentle Juliet, who regardless tried to not take it personally for the truth of how well she knew her husband even if her eyes did fall for a moment and her arms lifted to embrace herself; almost as if she were cold. Because she knew how much he doubted himself, she knew how many things had been whispered about him during the almost ten years of his reign, and she knew that, regardless of how he didn't truly show it and most people thought him almost even cold and heartless for it, there was a certain part of him that took sensibility to those whispers that worked in no other way than to bring an even deeper sense of self-doubt within his mind; that against what those genuinely counted people thought, Edmund Pevensie was one of the kindest people she had ever came across.

But still, his soft retreat from her hurt, because it was a sort of retreat that simply had been almost inexistent since months before they even got engaged; one brought forth for the reality that his openness with her went to the very depths of all the horrors in his mind (if she could judge by every detail he had unveiled about his time with the Witch), and therefore held absolutely no place within their relationship enough for him to wonder about something so impossible as her infidelity. In fact, the very ridiculousness of the accusation made her almost immediately think that there was something else going on in that mind she so adored and the inquiry had only been the exterior reaction upon it; and thus, she decided to clear her throat instead of saying anything else to his little apology, lest her hurt became evident upon her movements and therefore keep a guilt (which she obviously didn't know already rested within her husband's heart) that was completely uncalled for entirely away from his already clearly troubled mind.

Silent, she simply moved to her side of the bed, with no more than a gentle breath carrying only her worry as she went; the problem was that neither of them could understand what the other thought without a word stated out loud, and that ended with the echoes of miscommunication to the ears of the Just King, who instead of the worry hidden in Juliet's sigh, it was disappointment and tiredness that he heard, and how exactly what he supposed to react to that than the feeling of his own self-doubt (he would never call it self-hatred, not even in his own mind) growing so deep that even changing into his sleeping robes felt like more of a task than it should have done? Thus, as he did change, for the sort of open-hearted relationship he held with his wife, he spoke: "I am… so sorry for accusing you of something so stupid." But still, that deep guilt that worked curses within his mind simply did not allow him to look at her; at least not until he had made his way to the bed and lay on his side of it, one hand laying motionless beside him and the other resting lamely on his chest, rising and falling along with each of his breaths.

"I just don't understand how thou couldst think such of me," she told him then, finally perfectly displaying the worry that hid within her mind, and relaxing as much as she could within the little bubble their love created; the place where both could feel safe, the place where they could both see the most beautiful things in the world with simply a sole look into each other's eyes; those beautiful, troubled, burdened eyes that had equally seen and experienced much more than their allotted fare of darkness. The shattered boy who'd betrayed family over envy once upon a time, and the naïve young girl who had been betrayed and fought upon a vengeful journey to free lovers from a Lifeless' reach; what a pair, indeed. But it was that security they had found within each other that truly allowed troublesome Juliet to wonder upon Edmund's doubt, even as she reached to hold his hand closest to her, "Doth thou not trust me?"

Of course, the question was so completely illogical that in any normal circumstance it would have made the young King frown—after all, would he  _marry_ someone he didn't trust?—but the accusations he had made left him instead feeling guilty for the ability to understand exactly the reason why Juliet would come to wonder such a thing; there he had been before, talking to her about the deepest fears within his mind, and still that night he had spouted ridiculous words against her loyalty, as if she hadn't proven its strength endless times, as if she weren't the very reason that he was so perfectly grounded most of the time, "I do; of course I do," he told her, wishing, as he held her hand and pulled her closer to him, that he had the knack for words that she did so that perhaps his apology could come with a little more romance or flair to match the many times she had confessed her love and trust; but alas, that hard headedness of his dissuaded him from any words that could fall any more romantically from his lips than this: "I trust you with my life, as I have done for long before I made a vow about it a year ago; as much as I hope you trust me still, even after this  _stupid_ … you trust me too, right? Still?" His voice was almost a whisper, his gaze fearful as it refused to look away from her eyes whilst the last time he had uttered those words came strongly into his mind in a whirlwind.

They had been words he had spoken to his brother; words he had been fearful to ask as much as he was to Juliet that night; shortly after their coronation when every single danger after the Witch had diminished into nothing more than those few supporters they still had to hunt down. It had been the first time he had even had the guts to spill his emotions for his brother to know, wondering if he truly forgave him, wondering if, regardless of the horrors he had caused and the near death he had brought upon him, Peter Pevensie truly forgave him, loved him, and trusted him; he had cried into his brother's robes for the first and last time, promising he would be a better man, better brother, and a good King.

But just like that time, when his brother had cradled him in his arms and told him that he still trusted him and even apologised for being so hard on him for so long, Juliet reached closer to him until she lay softly by his side, half supporting herself on his chest whilst one of her hands desperately but softly touched the skin of his cheek, "Oh, Edmund," she told him with the worry in her eyes and a note that almost made the young King relax onto the words that she attempted to speak; she moved to kiss him fully on the lips.

Of course, though she wished it, she couldn't say she trusted him with her life, for what sort of love could she claim to hold for him if all she trusted him was with something so fickle as a life that could be taken away at any moment for a short time before it was returned to her later? Had she not died twice within that world already to prove that her life did not hold the same weight of trust as the one given by her husband? "I'll answer, lest thou ask again: I trust you, my King, my husband, with the thing most precious to me as thy life be to you; I trust thee with my  _soul_ , else God strike me down this very minute for speaking false _._ " Needless to say, no one was stricken down, and all that came of such a confession was a second kiss brought forth by as much the relief from the young King's heart, as the undeniable and unshakable love within the immortal's unwavering heart; such comfort was theirs that the reassurance of something so obvious came without a doubt and as if it had been the first time any such a thing had been asked.

But the problem remained in a wavering cloud above their heads, darkening the otherwise perfect moment for the very fears that had so broken the young King that morning and thereafter had become existent for Juliet without understanding their source; for it, she pulled away from the kiss and moved no further away than that previous place where she half rested atop him and looked into his eyes, "I just don't understand," she finally repeated as the little frown wrinkled the middle of her forehead, "If thou doth indeed trust me, then I beg thee, explain, how couldst thou ever doubt me upon a thing so impossible as my loyalty to thee? Specially with a man so otherwise preoccupied in his own love-sick mind that he would lest have a mind for me than for a Calormen Princess?" She didn't even dare to move away from him, her words a soft note near him as her hand so lovingly graced a gentle trail from his cheek to his temple, to his hair, and down to rest against the fabric of the shirt covering his chest. "How, and wherefore, then, dost thou doubt me when my whole world rests at thy feet? When I have shown without a layer of doubt that mindless of what I thought for too long I love thee with all I hold within my heart, and thus thy lips are the only I ever think to kiss, thy love the only I wish for, thy embrace the only I yearn for each day, each night; that I wouldst rather have naught of thee before I stand in the way of thy happiness and therefore it is impossible that I could e'er love one with the strength with which I have given my heart into thy palm." As if he needed proof, she moved to kiss him again, softly, carefully, but as lovingly as the very first time they'd done such a thing in the middle of the hallway what felt like a lifetime before.

Such was the love she declared, showed, and had shown for years, and the tranquillity that should have come with that confession found itself deeply buried by the remorse within the King's heart; not only for accusing her the way he had, but for having failed her for even allowing such a thought to come into his head in the first place, for being so weak of mind and quick to expect the worst for himself that a single dream of her treachery had made of prisoners' words something to even consider real enough to be haunted by it for a day. Because, indeed, she loved him, just as deeply as she confessed, otherwise… well, had they both not shown it enough to each other to be completely convinced? She had accepted his proposal regardless of how she had never thought she would be allowed it, he had refused all thoughts of heirs to his name simply to be able to have her, she had taken a crown—one she simply had never wished for as she had said endless times—if only for the ability of standing publically and lovingly by his side; and how had he repaid her? How had he, after spending countless hours and endless intimate moments where those beautiful poetic words of hers explained to him how much she loved him, let her know that the feeling was reciprocated?

By accusing her of infidelity when it was the stupidest idea his shattered mind had been poisoned with.

His mind burdened with the images of the dream that had made his mind already so susceptible and only left him quiet against the words of prose used occasionally and often with purpose; they made the guilt eat at his insides until he truly thought he could take it no longer and a sigh escaped shaky from his softly parted lips. Was that a tear he felt trickle at the skin of his cheek? Did it so treacherously expose him and the near desperation he felt as his fingers anxiously fiddled with the hem of her soft gown instead of reaching entirely for her due to the very sentencing thought that perhaps he didn't deserve her even as he attempted to think of how to answer her question truthfully? Oh, it was, and he only did know it was when the gentleness of her hand lifted to wipe the betraying droplet away and her lips softly whispered his name with enough sensibility and worry that it only made his eyes close tightly against the very wave of emotions destroying him second by second, "Please, Edmund," she told him, her hand moving to rest on his jaw with the loving expectancy that maybe with the soft prompt he would look at her; and though his head did turn, his eyes didn't open. "Look at me."

Because the problem was, as it so happened, that the very worry that made Juliet so stricken almost with despair was the recognition of the fear, guilt, and anxiety present in his features; it was one she had seen many times upon the mirror whilst she had not had a room officially to share, it was one present from the very night the ball that had changed her life onto her love for Edmund Pevensie had come: one of absolute terror onto the possibilities that could come from such a romance at all. Of course, for her, it was all based on the first time she had fallen in love; for it had all been so powerful, mind-boggling, and eventually lethal onto her life that the only thing she had been even able to think when any sort of emotion had been acknowledged—other than she was not supposed to be allowed love again—had been  _what am I doing? How could I be doing this again? How am I to trust and wherefore?_ Because, Protector of Love or not, she had doubted, she had feared, she had wondered, she had risked her heart again, and still, now here she rested: almost four years in love and one married and the love, trust, and complete affection she held for her King left her not only more mindful of his own well being, but also easily able to ignore any doubts or dark thoughts that would otherwise invade her mind in a way that he clearly simply could not.

Oh, she'd been lost onto him for a long, long time, and now that the first echo of loud doubt left his lips, it scared her; because without the sort of trauma he had had those doubts and fears had almost left her undone, so she could simply not even come close to imagine what those emotions could do to him in the end. "Please, talk to me," she said for it, pleading with her voice as much as the soft grace of her fingers on his cheek, worried, curious, scared, but absolutely concerned with only being able to make such worries disappear, but for it she needed to do more than assume; she needed to hear: "Tell me what troubles thee, I beg. Do not suffer solitarily whenst thou have me at thy side; come, husband, speak: let me help."

And how could a loving husband such as Edmund say no to that? How could he further hurt himself by denying onto the very support that he had had for years, the one he had trusted, the one he had chosen? Thus, his eyes opened, displaying the very fears that drove him so plainly that almost at once the confidence he had in her broke through all the walls of his terrors and left simply from his lips: "I'm scared, Juliet. I'm horribly and stupidly scared of losing you." And there it was; the very thing he simply had refused himself to accept had been the compromising terror within his mind and had so easily made him think she was capable of something so beyond them as infidelity was. "And I'm not—I'm not talking just about death, I know that can't—I know it can't touch you the way it can touch me, but there are other ways.

I had a dream… this morning, it was why I wasn't in bed. I should have told you about it like I've told you of all others, but I just couldn't—it felt stupid, it angered me, and in the end it just…" his head shook, one of his hands finally moving to reach for her the way he simply had stopped himself from before, by embracing her at his side, by holding her close, by letting her in; because telling her should have beeen as easy as it always was due to the friendship they held with one another before any romance had come. "…People in the dungeons talk, Juliet. They speak of how Peter's love for Athena is faked, how he has only eyes for you, how—it's all rubbish, and I know it," he said the second the horror came over the Italian's eyes again, "Or I'm able to know it every time they speak of it because I know they only try finding ways of getting into my head, but after this dream, I just…"

At his first silence, the worry within Juliet's heart simply left her unable to keep the single query to herself, "What happened in this dream?" And why did it finally bring doubt into the young King's heart?

Edmund's head shook for a second, his hands holding her tight against his body as the very fear he spoke of became physically evident and he refused to let go as if she were to disappear the second he did, "You finally began to hate me," he confessed, "I—I don't know why, but there was blood in my hands, wolves were howling behind me, and you just… you called me a monster, you called me selfish, prideful, egoistical, y-you, you seemed so disappointed in me, so hurt, you told me you could finally see what everyone else saw, and then… you threw your ring at me," He could still see it, her beauty wrapped in that silky golden dress he loved, her hair floating around her with the wind of the winter that ever starred in his nightmares, and her voice the weirdest mix of hers and…  _hers;_ he had to gulp. "I don't know when Peter stepped into the dream, but somehow he was there and you reached for him, and—and Peridan as well, holding your other hand and they just—they held you and they kissed you and you laughed in my face, and you all laughed, and suddenly… suddenly  _she_ was there laughing with you," he simply never had to say who  _she_ was at all; Juliet could easily know. After all, there had only been one person, one thing, who had tortured the King enough to leave behind the eons of damage that had made him into who he was, "She was taunting me, telling me I had been stupid to think some boy like me could deserve to be—to be loved truthfully, and—and I dunno, it just got weird from there, it didn't make much sense, but… but I-I just—it felt so real, and I—and then those words the prisoners said, I couldn't… it's like that fear just blinded me, and it made me believe what they said, and—oh, Juliet, I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me, I am so, so sorry." And then his arms were pulling her closer and closer until his face could hide in the loose waves of her hair, and his tears tainted her locks as he did.

It was like coming home, to rest against him, to be held by him, moving almost like magnets, simply following one another until the other could be comfortable, for there was his trust, there was his truth, and finally Juliet Capulet could understand it; it was for it that her arms wrapped around him and thus held everything precious to her in her arms, "It's okay," she told him whilst the fingers of one hand threaded on the brown tresses of his hair, "It's okay, it's okay; I swear it, I do. For I love thee as I could swear evermore, and still each day mine own love wouldst be greater than the day before," They were words she wished to repeat over and over for the tragedy of the confession fallen from his lips, which hit against her heart in such a way that even the gifted organ felt as if it physically hurt. She wanted to hold him forever, whisper in his ear all the things that she felt merely with the hopes of scaring the thoughts that had made him doubt in the first place forever away; but above all, she spoke the love within her heart with the poetry of her words because she just wanted him to see what she saw every single time she looked at him: she saw a valiant man, one who had defeated grandiose evils, battled horrors and walked away triumphant; she saw a boy who'd gone through much more than any person as young as he should have done, she saw someone with a heart much bigger than anyone even realised—one that saw the world in ways only someone such as he even could—, she saw a whole world, a ghost, a love, a fear, all in those brown eyes of his, and it had always seemed wonderful to her for knowing that the deepest of his feelings ever hid behind the confidence of the Boy King.

Indeed, he was a galaxy, a hero, a monarch, a boy, a human, one whose feelings, as strong as they were, as denied as they were, refused to be held back; why else would temptation be able to befall him so easily? "Look at me," she requested then, when the urgency of her own emotions drove her so deeply that she simply  _needed_ him to hear the extent of her love for him, "Look at me, and I beg thee, listen true," even her hands moved to pull him away from her so he could see her, one on an arm, the other against his chest and the wild thumps of his beating heart which made of him something much more mortal than she wanted to allow herself to think; for if she did, she would drown herself within the thoughts of how one day she would lose him to death, and thus the fear he had so easily worded would simply become her own; he who had become the most important person in her world, he who had felt like a gift from the world onto her life, a gift upon a life wrong lived and poorly ended, an apology, he who finally, with tear-filled eyes and wet cheeks, looked only at her. "There be a truth I have ne'er spoken that thou should know, for if mine own confessions be uttered candidly by these lips that love thee, thou wouldst see evermore that possibility of losing me there is none; thus, aye, dry thy tears and listen:" and only until it was clear that he could hear her without bias of his sorrow, regardless of the way his arms remained softly at her sides, did she go on, "Thou couldst ne'er lose me, lest thou wished me gone with truthfulness of thine own heart, for I love thee, and it need be understood for the depth of what I have ne'er voiced and thus perhaps has worked against what thou doth already know," she said, almost pleading onto him, begging him to believe her as her hands moved to brush upon his hair, gently, lovingly, until those soft digits of hers stopped at the back of his neck, and her eyes were able to do nothing more than search within his own, as if by such an action she could make her meaning clearer than her words could, "I love thee, and I believe the problem is thou knows't me to have said those words before onto a man who was not you, but thou doth need understand that ne'er before I loved thee did those words hold the power that they now do when spoken towards you, for ne'er until now did I understand true love.

Now that I have protected it, now that I am much older than the child who was so poorly fooled, those words are truer now than e'er I could have imagined them to be," Her voice nearly even broke, for the reality she spoke of, the things she truly thought he had known regardless of her not speaking them, drowned her until it was almost she who held onto him like a lifeline instead of him, "Thou doth need understand that I was young when those words left my lips for the first time," she continued. "I was naïve, lost, a stupid child that knew no better for a life lived protected by the nobility to which I was born, as much thou knowst by the words taught elsewhere in another world; such lies, as I have explained, such horrors, but the start of which speaks true for the life of Capuletti and the name I hold still, which were lived protected in ways that led me to an early grave.

And thou, my prince, my king, my  _best friend_ , my love… thou came'st unexpected into this mine existence, and all I had e'er doubted, all I had denied myself, all I had feared, it all went away, for thy love scared it off, and within thy arms I felt the very emotion I thought I had once felt but came to realise had been naught onto the truth of what love truly is." Gentle pads brushed against the place where his jaw became his neck, and her eyes, god, her eyes, they screamed what she merely spoke in soft notes, they bore onto fire depicting of her affections onto him. "Long now have I known that Romeo Montague was naught but a farce, and any love I hath felt onto him naught but a dream; but thou art true, and though I thought thou knew such truths without my ever explaining them out loud, the reason behind them holds truer for something I've ne'er spoken even to myself: that after everything that happened against me, regardless of the duty I held onto the so called honour of protecting love's existence, I indeed doubted, I hated Romeo and even wished him dead; I saw no hope, no possibility, no nothing but a mindless duty to save in the name of those who hath taken mine pain and made it into a weapon, so that perhaps none in future wouldst feel the pain of betrayal such as I had done.

Yet thou came'st into my heart with thine own hate, thy reformation, thy understanding of the world, and it… it made me see that such thoughts of mine own mind did not have to remain forever; for if someone such as thee, who betrayed, suffered, and regretted, who hurt as much as I could see, if someone thus could smile, live, and love as thou doth, then I… I was not lost. And against all odds, hate shifted within thy heart towards me, thy affections were met, and thy love plucked me out of a blind misery I knew not I had been trapped in." Her hands held his face softly in place, so his eyes could look only into hers, so the depth of the truth she spoke became a light to him as if left from her lips, "And, Edmund, it scared me; thy love, it terrified me, for slowly I could feel the emotion within mine own heart, I could feel it drowning me, driving me forth, moving me, stronger than it had ever been, making the past into a thing that seemed false, as if I had never truly loved at all, and…" her head shook, "God, I wanted to fight against it, I confess it, I wanted to push it all away in order to avoid that which hath once hurt me, I wanted to expel away the thought and keep onto my own solitary path of duty and purpose, which I hath thought to be exactly what was e'er meant for my destiny, but… no matter how much I tried, no matter how much I told myself thy affections onto me would disappear and therefore shatter me, I simply couldn't—

I couldn't fight against thee and thy love; for thou did grow within my heart and made a home of it, and suddenly a life of duty no longer felt right, suddenly, as if thou hath been made of magic, I could finally see that I couldst ne'er fight against something that I protected, thou doth made me see that the young naïve girl who had so horribly been broken and lost could be mended and found; thy strength made me see one of mine own, and thus forgive that naivety I hath long loathed onto mine own self, it made me see that Romeo's actions had not been fault of mine but his, that love was not denied me and I could love again,  _really_  love, because the love I so wholeheartedly felt for thee… it was good. That such a love as the one I  _feel_ for thee is the sort I protect, the sort that should be revered, the sort one could only feel blessed to feel, and thus it was: thou hast made me see the beauty of the world again in a light I knew not I had almost lost, thou hast made me love, smile, laugh, and this heart of mine, so softly beating in its gifted reality, does so strongly for thee," she paused, having only to take a breath onto the speech she had released; a speech that even then did not feel like it was enough regardless of how a brand new sort of understanding appeared to light the wonder of her husband's tear-stained cheeks, "If thou couldst truly know," she attempted to finish, desperate, loving, and feeling of a soft tear falling freely against the skin of her cheek, "If I could but make thee see within mine heart, within mine own mind, just so thou couldst know how much thy love and thy person mean to mine own soul; for then thou wouldst understand the truth I thought was written plainly in my eyes for thee to see: that there be nothing in this or any other world that could make me leave thee, betray thee, lie to thee or else, that I couldn't, I have no will to be naught but true to thee here, on Earth, or anywhere else thy mind couldst come to think, as I am fully ever yours.

Thus, you see, my heart, thou couldst ne'er lose me," She finished; her honesty drained from words, for anything else she felt could not be described with loud poetry that even so would run blankly with the emotions she had already conveyed; because she, a dreamer and a lover, felt too much to be spoken by plain words. "Else thou wish't me away from thy side, by thy own will, I would leave, but if such never comes to happen, then I am here forever, and naught could make me part from thee but eternal death."

They felt like second vows onto an already wedded pair, but they were welcome; for her speech made the young King's heart thud rhythmically in his chest with the relief he had so foolishly forbidden himself the whole day, the stupidly clear knowledge that her love for him was infinite, but one he had also very much needed to hear for the very doubt she had discovered within his mind. His mouth even opened to reply, but instead his lips simply lay parted, eyes wide and gaze adorning onto the love of his wife, whose words so easily had managed to find the reason (as ridiculous as it had been) that he had even dared doubt her at all; he could feel a warmth spread from the centre of his stomach throughout his whole body which he could have easily sworn made his flesh glow red or at least pink. Flushed with the colour and the heat of a Mediterranean springtime, Edmund felt an explosion of butterflies manically chasing each other in his abdomen and tickling his freckle splattered skin, making him so easily hate his inability to equal the magic of her words and therefore willing him to pull her close against him once again, "I'm so sorry for ever doubting you," he told her for it as the only words able to escape the knot in the middle of his throat, "I didn't even know I needed to hear this, but… but I did, and I—I'm sorry, Juliet, I am." He simply did not know how else to say it; because how could he explain the relief that filled his heart so wholly that any doubt he had ever held onto her name simply disappeared? How could he let her know that he was the man he was equally for her own help along those years when only she held the magic of words so easily in hand, how indeed when every attempt of speech faltered with every parting of his lips and in the end all he was left with was the only most natural and prompt of actions that perhaps could explain to her more than he ever could: he moved and pulled her softly so his lips could press desperately against her own.

In that kiss rested all of his thoughts, the desperate means with which he held onto her, the fear that had driven him forth since that morning, all as his mind leapt wildly between the love he felt for her and the relief that she loved him just as much; it was a long kiss, one where he cradled her head and ran his rough hand over her jaw, it was a kiss of youth, beauty, and love all kindled into one whilst the dark ache that had lingered inside him for so long—one which had eaten away at him as the shadow in the corner of every room in a nightmare or the blur in the blind spot of an eye during winter—became something that could no longer influence or damage him against her anymore; indeed, every evil seemed vanished within its attempted darkening against her name and he could only pray such a thing was clear by the moment he finally pulled softly away from her lips "I swear for the love I bare you that I won't ever doubt you again, and for the fear that words will fail me with anything further than that, I say this," he said the moment after he drew a soft breath and the chocolate of his eyes soaked in the amber of her own, "I love you, Juliet, just as much; and I too wish you could see it for yourself, but for failing of that…" He simply moved to kiss her again.

Had his words not spoken of what little of his feelings that he would, then the return of his kiss easily would have, for not only did his world disappear around her, but so did hers, and everything that mattered rested there; not even within the entirety of the room, but simply on the bed where they both lay, for he was it, and she was it: they were each other's worlds. And where Juliet's heart had broken for the accusation alongside the confession of his fear, the love he thereafter claimed managed to put the beating organ back together again; had she even been breathing while they kissed? She didn't think so, for her lips parted when his finally moved away from hers so his arms could wrap around her in an embrace—one that spoke as much as the kiss had done whilst one of his hands balled on the fabric of her gown and the other on the long curls of her hair—and a short nearly silent gasp filled her lungs from the air he had otherwise stolen, which allowed a short echo of relieved laughter escape with absolute adoration onto him as she fully embraced him alike. "Then, my love, let us know if from this day forward," she told him with the brand new breath of a life she had been allowed and a note barely higher than a whisper as their hold refused to loosen, as if truly, no matter how close they were, it simply weren't enough. "That we may be stronger in our union and naught a person, creature, or hell couldst come between us and the love we share evermore." But even then, it almost felt as if the simple word of  _love_ was not enough to describe the situation; but alas, the English language had not yet truly evolved to place along the right word for the emotion of its description. "For I shall remain onto thee as long as thy love will have me, and if thou doth die before thy will has done, then I shall love thee until the moment I draw my last eternal breath."

"As will I," Edmund echoed within the only simplicity he truly knew, understanding then the reason for poetry and the sort of words she spoke; words so ardent and so absolutely consuming, that even a human body was not enough to hold it; too big that a new description need be created, spoken in prose, and placed in song for it to be fully understood. "By Aslan, I swear it, and by the love I have for you, as will I." And that promise, he knew better now that he knew himself a little better regardless of the sort of doubts that had driven him that day, was one he would keep until the very end of his days.

Within the relief onto the agreement, which she showed by finding his lips with hers once again, all Juliet Capulet knew was this: from the bottom of a doubting hell, the most honest of her and his heart had come to light, and a hope thereafter rested there: that he would doubt onto her no more, that he would know, as much as she, that by no action of hers could he come to lose her, that unless he wanted it, unless he  _begged_ her to go and meant it, she was his to keep. After all, marriage, even more so for an existence such as hers, seemed more than just the vow they had taken in front of all those people a year before or the contract it otherwise represented in that other world Edmund himself had almost fully forgotten; it truly meant her gifting him with her existence, allowing him everything she was; it meant that her soul, her heart, her body, they were all his as his were hers, and with that kiss, with the means with which they held each other and their lips expressed onto each other the love they so dearly felt, everything she had spoken and all he had allowed became completely evident.

And neither she of the past full of death and entrapment, nor Edmund of the treacherous mind and reformed heart, would ever come to doubt each other again.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _HIATUS NOTE:_** I am going on a trip to England ** _!_** The plane leaves tomorrow, so that means there will be no more chapters of this story until I come back, which will be on the first week of December; so this is a bit of a hiatus until then, but be aware: this is NOT me stopping writing this story forever, I will probably be working on chapters on free moments in my trip, I just wanted to not have to worry about uploading every Monday while I'm gone just in case; I love you all, and I hope you wait as excitedly for the continuation when I come back as I am excited to write it. Only twelve more chapters to go after this ** _!!_** Thank you so much for reading it and loving it and all the things you have done for it; I’m glad me, Lloyd and Jas are not the only ones completely in love with it, it means a lot to me. Please, remember to smile because you can. x
> 
> ~Mel

─ ♚ ─

Time passed, and if one did not take full care of oneself, even immortals could end up feeling sick within the magical world of Narnia; or so it seemed, at least, for Juliet Capulet, who thought it all absolutely unfair as she stood away from the private seat of her and her husband's room's hygiene station and groaned for the remnants of her breakfast and lunch resting disgustingly upon the bottom of the private hygiene seat. It had not been something she had liked when she'd been alive on Earth in a time where toilets had not been a thing, and it was definitely not something she enjoyed now within the second gifted life she had been given upon the creation of that beloved magical world of hers, where the closest thing to a toilet existed; all she could do was wash her mouth with the water always left fresh upon the private bassinet and harshly remove the cloak of which hems had not been able to be saved from the sick she'd freed upon the hygiene seat. It was so disgusting that her hands almost even fought with the fabric until it rested at the opposite side of the room, and all left within her heart was the hope that the terrible moment was over and done with, whilst her mind swiftly attempted to distract itself by the single note that at least all hems of her favourite gown (that beautiful blue one with silver enhancements that wrapped her body in the softest of silks) had been saved.

The truth was that such a gown was one of the very few that still fit her, and it was guiltily for it that she had thought that she would have been able to endure a good hearty meal as the one she'd indulged on a few hours prior (chicken, soup, endless and endless pastries); because her stomach had been growing enough to make any tighter gown unable to fit or uncomfortable to wear. And why? Well, she had allowed herself too much of a sweet tooth, and now she was paying the price for it with what once had been a flat belly now forming into a large enough bump that anyone who didn't know better might even end up thinking she was pregnant; hell,  _she_  knew better and even she had come to think it, because simply put, she had grown. Not by the arms, not by the face, but by the torso, with her chest seeming slightly larger, and her stomach so evidently prodding from the middle of her dress; it was even worse when she stood in front of the mirror outside of the hygiene room and looked at her profile where it was impossible to miss the way the gown so evidently rose in her middle of her body where once it would have fallen fairly without barely even touching her skin. How unfair it seemed, that she kept the consequence of a sweet tooth but still couldn't keep everything she had eaten down; and what was worse was that it hadn't even been the first time in the day, much less the past… well, it felt like forever but it had been at  _least_  three months.

God, standing the way she was she could almost even imagine the way she would look if she were allowed the happiness of carrying children in her womb; granted, her belly was not big enough to look to be full term, but she had seen enough women upon their second trimester to think she could imagine she looked like them; she even stood straighter and placed the hand that did not hold the glass she had filled with the water jug always kept by the side of the bed softly on the bottom of her grown belly to make it even clearer against the gown, and without even a warning the sadness came fully into her mind. Oh, what it would be like, that impossibility, that happiness, to hold her child and sing to it… if such was her sadness by the imagination of it, then it seemed even more unfair to her that she could make anyone else think her with child for the carelessness of her feeding habits; she simply had to start going out on hunts, or train with her daggers more often, or take many more walks along the gardens and do many more physical chores than the ones she could do as Head of Household, lest her stomach grow so much that the idea of a pregnancy could come to spread hope in the husband who had claimed wished no children or the realm easily expectant of princes and princesses when such a thing was simply impossible for her. It didn't matter if she had been gifted life by Aslan and her body worked as well as any other woman's might, without a monthly bleed that which she had wished for from the moment love had first been thought to have come into her heart was simply impossible; thus, she had to be careful, she had to remain unchangeable enough to not ignite hope or talk or—

And suddenly, any thought she had been having was immediately interrupted by the loud echo of a terrified scream; one that hurt Juliet's ears as much as her throat regardless of how short it had been, even more so after she had realised the reason it had hurt her throat had been because the scream had come from her own voice.

♦

"…and I just thought we should find a way to involve all those who would have been a big part of Queen Helen's Day in their wedding," Lucy was saying to her brother as they walked along the familiar gardens surrounding the Western side of the castle, with the late summer winds warming them as they passed through and enjoyed the familiar echoes of the training guards at the other far side of the gardens and the many birds who found home within the many trees. "But I also thought it could be a great surprise," It was then when her eyes looked at Edmund, and every single intention of innocence disappeared by the smile that otherwise lifted her lips.

It was a familiar expression that only made the young King's amusement shortly rise, "So you decided to come to me, your personal mischief accomplice." Of course it didn't matter that his voice pretended to be entirely discontent, because that smile of his spoke of the happiness he held whenever he thought of Lucy and got to be part of any little plan of hers.

Her hands lifted clasped under her chin, and her smile widened enough to make her seem so devilishly innocent with those big blue eyes and angelic features before she said, "Yes…?" And even went so far as to bat her lashes at him.

She truly could have shamefully asked him without the innocent intent and he still would have been perfectly up for it; after all, it had been her love and forgiveness that had meant the most to him after all he had done  _personally_  to her, he loved her so strongly that he would do absolutely anything for her, and to be able to speak and plan with her the way he had been able to for years now was something he never allowed himself to take for granted, so "You've come at the right time, I've nothing planned for the next hour." Indeed, he was thankful, he was happy, and above all, he was more than perfectly willing to do anything that would make that girl at his side smile and clap with joy the way she managed to do at his consent. "Shh, or they'll think we're plotting something." He played, and even went so far as to look around them regardless of how he knew there was no one around other than the guards spread about the gardens many, many meters away; only when he looked at his sister again and the way her hands covered her lips with the mirth clear in her expression did he speak again. "Now, tell me: did you already have plans or is this a newborn thought?"

Her hands fell from her lips but didn't go so far by the time they reached to hold onto her brother's arm, "Oh, it's not newborn at all," she admitted without much more of a thought. "But I had to come to you before my ideas go ahead of me, because involving everyone will mean opening the castle almost entirely to the public, and while I treasure every moment we can get closer to those outside the castle, there has also been a lot of things going on lately that we have to consider."

To that, at least, Edmund simply had to nod, "You mean Lune." It had been months since that display of will and power at the gates of Cair Paravel and nothing terrible had happened since; but none more than the young King were wary of the silence.

And what was worse, Lucy reminded him of the other thing he had been worrying about since he found out via Athena, "And Calormen," How could he forget that everyone had found out about that little piece of information he'd known for far longer than any of them?

He almost wished the display hadn't been public at all so only he could worry about Calormen alone; but the truth was that if the situation hadn't been public, then his next statement would be impossible to say: "Lune wouldn't dare try something now that he's back in the alliance, especially because we agreed to it in public," Even if they'd signed to it after in private, with none but the council to see; not, of course, to say Edmund trusted the King at all, but he did at least trust the honour that Lord Peridan had claimed Archen Kings were bound to. "As for Calormen…" he continued, stopping alongside his sister by the sunflowers Juliet loved so much for the small comfort they brought him; it wasn't for nothing that they were placed specially under the high window of their bedroom: by their position the Strong Queen could look upon her favourite flowers whenever she sat by the window to read. "Well, I don't think we have to worry much about them right now, since Archenland revoked the alliance as part of their treaty with us."

Lucy almost looked doubly excited by the time Edmund looked away from the sunflowers and into her blue eyes again, "So that means we can open the castle completely and not worry about… well, anything?"

" _Well_ , we could have extra guards posted about all entrances to the castle," he told her, finding his smile again by the joy easily expressed by Lucy and the comfort of Juliet's flowers just beside them. "Maybe have patrols at the borders again; but other than that, yeah, I think we could open up the castle and go crazy with this idea of yours."

It would have been easier to think she'd been told Christmas had come early, for a small squeal left from Lucy's lips, one definitely more silent than the first outburst she had had before he told her it would be best no one thought they were plotting something, "Oh, this is wonderful!" she exclaimed, and even shook his arm, as if she wanted him to be as excited as her, which… well, he was sure it was exactly what she wanted. "It'll be like a celebration of peace, not just of love! We can have the dryads in the gardens if they wish to come, some of the creatures could sing, we can have activities for all that cannot fit in the throne room as well so that they don't have to wait until the ceremony is over to be part of it, and—oh, Edmund, this is going to be wonderful!"

Something definitely much more public than his own wedding, clearly; that much Edmund did not envy Peter for, but that's, apparently, what happens when one's High King. All he truly cared about was that the smile in Lucy's lips, and the excitement that so evidently drove her, didn't disappear if he had anything to do about it, "We could even ask some of the dryads if they wanted to dance; or maybe even make some sort of special number with them and those other fawns that practice dancing in the lawn just outside the g—" But it was then that their conversation was cut off by the piercing shattering scream coming from just the window above them; like a paper cut, it ripped through the air around the undisturbed garden, flying off the high walls into the peace they had found and making both Pevensies freeze even if Edmund's hand easily reached for his sword, as if he could fight whatever danger had come instantly and without a thought. But then thought did come into his mind the moment an echo of shattering glass reached them from the same direction; and recognition of the only possible source the scream had come from had his eyes lifting in direction of the window to their room with enough panic that he barely had had a voice to say, "Juliet," before his feet pulled him away from his freezing terror and drove him in the direction of his beloved wife.

It was not even a second after that Lucy easily followed, scared for her best friend as much as the very peace she had just been thinking was going to be celebrated on the day of Athena and Peter's wedding.

In their bedroom, Juliet remained shaken over the scream she had released, her glass of water shattered by her feet and her eyes wide upon the reflection she had been dreaming upon only seconds before; and why but for something so simple, something so absolutely harmless to any female in the world, yet something so utterly impossible to her that the only possible reaction she had been able to have had been the terror that had left her lips.

Something had moved inside her.

"Oh, il mio…" she said, her native Italian taking over her mind over the panic that easily shook her lips as much as her hands trembled; all because it was simply impossible. Indeed, she had to be going insane, somehow, finally, all those years alive with and without love had finally gotten to her in such a way that the thing she had mourned for upon the day of her death had come into her mind in the form of a phantom movement; she did even look insane in her reflection, with eyes wide, hands up by the sides of her face, the hem of her dress wet by the water that had spilled from the glass she had been holding, and the shattered shards of it spread around her…  _oh, poor Edmund_ , she thought,  _he has a crazy wife._

What else was she supposed to think? Indeed, what else other than the fear of insanity as she trembled at the thought of touching her stomach again, because the only other option to her predicament was as impossible as she knew her ever being alive anywhere other than Narnia had to be; something she thought with shaking features even as she looked down at her grown belly, even as tentative palms—trembling so much she might even fault the next movement on such tremors—rested upon what she had thought of as an embarrassing gluttony based bump and felt, after a few seconds that felt like minutes, yet another soft movement against her hand. "Juliet!" She heard behind her as she whimpered what would have been another scream if it wasn't for the fear that otherwise kept her so silent; she didn't even truly note the words coming from behind her, not even the voice she so dearly loved accompanied by the one from her best friend and Queen (both of which she would have been able to see in the mirror if only she looked up), all because, for the love of all that was holy, the movement just under her hand came again.

But behind her Edmund was panicking as well; he had been ready to take action on whatever laid behind his bedroom door, his sword in his hands and his sister just steps away; he had been ready to shout for help, he had even managed to think enough to tell some guards to accompany them as they ran, because within the uncertainty that had come soaked with fear rested the many possibilities of what he could see when the door finally opened into the room—had she been attacked? Had she died again? Who had hurt her? How much pain was she in? Had it been burglars or murderers? Was she fighting them now? Who did he have to kill?

But when he'd actually stepped inside the room the sight that befell him was of utter peace, and it completely derailed him, "Search the room," he almost instantly instructed the two guards that had accompanied him and his sister, but his eyes dared not look anywhere but Juliet, who so evidently trembled in place that he was even surprised she had not fallen to the wet ground under her. "Juliet?" He called again, his breath coming in and out in pants as quick as his heart beat and his hand tightening upon the hold of his sword, but his wife did not answer; she only trembled, she only whimpered, she only stayed frozen with her back to him and made his mind make up even worse scenarios than the ones he had imagined on his way there. "Juliet!"

But she simply could not acknowledge him for the fear that completely blinded her to anything other than the swirling thoughts in her mind; thoughts that begged her to come to sanity, thoughts that wished to shake her away from the insane reality that otherwise called onto her, and thoughts that, in the end, with absolutely no help against them escaping her lips upon the very Italian that had so automatically come back to her as it ever did in situations of peril or mental unrest, she spoke quite out loud, " _Non è vero, no, non è possibile, ho perso la mia mente… ancora a successo, finalmente; oh, Julietta, controllati, tornare alla realita, ti suplico._ "

Yet all her words did was finally shake Edmund away from his own fear for the impatience so driven by the terror he had felt upon hearing her scream in the first place, "Juliet!" He called again, only this time he didn't wait for her to acknowledge him; instead he moved with all the hopes to get her attention; he walked towards her frozen frame whilst his sword went back into its scabbard and his hands finally reached for her as swiftly as he could, for a second he simply held her and searched her eyes for any sense of… anything that could explain what was going on. "Juliet, English, please." But when she didn't' answer, one of his hands lifted to finally touch her face, prompt her to look at him, calm her if she was shaken,  _anything._ "What's wrong?" He nearly demanded, and only then did her eyes, so terrified and shadowed move away from her own body to look at him.

But she didn't speak.

"There's nothing, sir," one of the guards said the moment they had searched the private hygiene room only to find the sickened cape on the floor; the very cape that was being carried by the same guard who had spoken, "Only this."

It wasn't Edmund that answered them, for he had eyes only for the terror in Juliet's, but Lucy, who easily expelled a breath of confusion and relief and said in a dubious voice, "That's hers; I saw her wearing it after dinner." And the rancid smell so very obviously came from that single item that the guard carefully set upon the nearest chair; but even the vomit in the cape didn't explain the shards of glass that rested on the floor and so easily reflected the autumn light in little rainbows decorating the walls and furnishings in the room alongside her brother and her best friend, both looking like some lost deities from the heavens, nor did it explain the reason for the Protector's scream or the absolute gaze of horror that otherwise adorned her face.

Indeed, the curtains from the great window flew silently in the breeze, making the world outside seem undisturbed regardless of the ruckus that had otherwise shaken them, but still the only thing that was able to leave Juliet's lips was a terrified, "Edmund…" And yes, her lips trembled; her eyes were stricken with terror alike her cheeks with tears, and she simply seemed as if she were about to die or fearful to soon do so as she held onto his arms; all because the phantom of that movement still felt fresh against her palm and the only single explanation for it was simply impossible, it wasn't right, and for all she thought, her mind had decided to play games and mock her for the things she had mourned.

But all she accomplished was to terrify Edmund all the more, "What? Please, Juliet, what?" He wondered, because he  _had_ heard what the guard had said, and he could simply see absolutely no sign of hurt upon her, no blood upon the ground or her body, no limbs that had given away, and yet she still trembled, she still cried. "What's wrong?"

And god, she whimpered with enough terror to make a wave of pain strike well upon his heart, "I… I'm…" Dark eyes locked to her ambers, and even the young king shook his head, begging for her to speak, begging for her to make sense of the very terror that had otherwise shaken a peaceful day; but she didn't speak, she barely even breathed, and only the smallest and most innocent of actions drew his gaze away the moment she moved, because one of her hands fell to the swell of her stomach, and the look of dread and dissatisfaction at her unresponsiveness fell along with the sickly paleness of her hand.

It wasn't that he hadn't noticed she'd been gaining some weight, but he hadn't really ever cared about it; hell, he even thought it a little sexy, if he was being honest, but… well he wasn't a girl; it wasn't the first time he noticed a girl close to him almost losing her mind because one of her dresses no longer fit her—Susan had had a small break down even though the reason her dress no longer fit was because she was no longer twelve, yet all she had been able to see had been the thicker waist—so was he then to think that Juliet's own self-consciousness had caused the terror of that day? Had she finally had enough of her own changing body that some sort of incredible terror had taken over her enough for her to look as if she were scared to die? God, yes, he knew his wife was a little bit dramatic, but enough to go into some sort of panic for vanity? No, there was absolutely no way, even the thought seemed absolutely ridiculous; so what then could it really be that drove her to look so absolutely terrified whilst holding onto her own stomach as if something were so absolutely wrong within her that—

Oh.

No, but…  _but that's impossible;_ It was as if understanding fell into his mind like a ton of bricks, and suddenly not only did his eyes widen, but the look that fell onto the hand that so easily rested upon her stomach felt almost as panicked as the one in Juliet's own eyes, for the idea that had fallen into Edmund's head became one that he was almost even terrified to hope for or even consider, "Juliet…" he said in almost the same echo of a whisper that she had used to address him seconds before, because he was so unsure of… of everything that he simply didn't know what else to do other than reach with a hand to rest softly atop her own and almost expect that single action to answer all of his questions; dared he hope regardless of the impossibility, dared he even fear of what such a possibility of life meant to someone so absolutely shattered as him? Perhaps he shouldn't have, but he wasn't really completely able to stop it, for a trapped laugh of relief escaped through his small smile and his eyes finally moved to look into hers again; little terrified pools of amber that danced on his as if he held all the answers in the world. Hesitant, he spoke only in whispers, as if afraid to disturb the moment entirely regardless of the three extra pairs of eyes that watched the couple with the same sort of confusion that Edmund himself had carried only moments before, "Are you…" He paused, fearing his next words whilst a single eyebrow quirked within the silent completion of his words.

But clearly she understood it, because the terror of her eyes did not disappear, if anything it only heightened as her head shook and her eyes appeared to drown deeper in tears over the impossibility of it all, "I-I ca…" she began, but her voice failed her because there rested the truth that, as logic demanded, she had to be sick, insane, or something of the sort and it terrified her; after all, to not bleed was to not near children, to die… to have had once died meant the impossibility of childbearing as well, so even the thought of it… "No, I cannot be." It was all she could do not to fall to the ground in fear, for he held her and thus kept her on her feet; and what was even worse was the sort of shock that came over the young King's eyes the moment her hand moved away from under his for the fear of feeling again what she had felt only moments before, that which she had hoped had been only the phantom of a lost hope and which suddenly came again under the touch of his hand; the terror came back, the hope in his eyes, the relief that he hadn't even spoken.

But her head simply shook again because regardless of his wordless confirmation that he had felt it too, she simply didn't want to believe it, she couldn't bear to think of it being true; not because she didn't want it—hell, the first thing she had thought of upon becoming a Protector of Love after being so mindlessly murdered by Romeo Montague had been the fact that she never would be a mother regardless of how much she could wish for it—but because if hope rose within her mind and the movement in her stomach so felt by her husband himself turned out to be just some strange illness of Narnian roots… well, it would feel to her as if she  _had_ lost a child. "'Tis impossible," she said again slowly with the small continuous shake of her head whilst Edmund's hand moved upon her stomach as if searching for the movement that had come before.

But what if the movement was not an illness, but a life? What if, somehow, by the same magic that had granted her life upon Narnia's creation, the young girl who never thought would change was actually with child? What if that which she had thought of as nothing but gluttony shown upon her body was the rather grown belly shown to be holding an equally growing life within her? Could it be true? Dared she hope for that which she had always mourned? Dared she share the joy mixed with terror upon her husband's eyes onto the thought of a life that the two of them would have created with what she could only think of as true love? Dared she allow herself to hope with the very high possibility of being let down soon thereafter? Oh, she wondered and she wondered even as she placed her hand atop her stomach just by Edmund's tentatively again; and only when her hand rested still by his did she feel a brand new sort of push against her hand; Edmund gasped softly within the smile that remained on his lips and a short whimper escaped hers once again, only where before there had been fear in such an expression before, now there felt a terrifying sort of hope, "Lucy," Edmund said in a voice so normal that it sounded almost like a shout against the silence that had reined before, but still, he did not move his eyes away from Juliet's body. "I think we need the physician."

Of course, Lucy had been watching all along, and the simplicity of the situation befell her perhaps more strongly and with much more hope than the two who had been otherwise perfectly involved with one another; so it was absolutely no surprise—at least not to the guards that knew their Kings and Queens well enough after so long—that the young Valiant girl was smiling so widely and had to lower her hands away from her smiling lips, "I don't think you do," she told him with the happiness well known to her, "She's probably going to tell you what you already know, and—"

"Lucy,  _please_." Edmund exclaimed, and only then did his eyes leave Juliet with the mixed emotions that so clearly ran through him. "Get the physician."

It was a look the young Queen did not want to fight against, so without much of a reaction other than a breath of knowing relief, Lucy easily called to the two guards that had been watching silently up until then, told one of them to take the unlucky cloak, and left the couple in their room completely alone; barely two seconds after the door had closed, Juliet finally regained the strength of her voice enough to simply sniff away the sorrow that had blinded her before and said, "Ed, I think we mightn't—I mean, ever as we felt, I cannot possibly be—"

"No," Edmund agreed, softly gracing the paleness of her cheek and wiping all remnants of her tears away, "I know it's not possible, but… but that— _we_  felt that, right? I didn't feel it alone, and I'm guessing you screamed because you—right." Juliet had begun nodding softly against his hand; suddenly everything made sense. "So that means that you either  _are_ … with child, or..." Suddenly a knot rose upon his throat, and for the sake of his own sanity as much as the broken and hopeful expression in his wife's features, he cleared it all away. "Or you have a stomach worm the size of a child in there, so," Well, at least that idea made the Protector laugh even if against the remnant of her tears. "So we definitely need the physician anyway."

There was a sort of shaking feeling that remained all over her body, almost as if she'd fallen asleep in a funny position and thus her every limb felt as if little ants walked all around her, but still, she nodded, "Aye," She felt weaker than she did before, like she had to sit down immediately or she would fall. "Perhaps we do." Even her hold on one of Edmund's arms tightened.

It was simply impossible for him not to feel it almost immediately, "Come on, why don't you just… sit down while we wait?" He even moved to help her, easily standing by her side and guiding her softly as he could towards the partly unmade bed where she had been laying from the moment she had arrived feeling sick to the room; obviously it didn't take a lot of convincing for her to actually sit down and even lean against the pillows that Edmund easily placed against the headrest for her back. "Do—do you want some water?" It was as if suddenly in the mere course of a few minutes, the entirety of his life had been turned upside down; for one he truly wished to do nothing other than sit beside her and possibly simply think until Mrs. Brighton, the physician, got to them hopefully with Lucy by her side, but for the other, the comprehension of what Juliet herself must be going through was enough to make him reach for the jug of water left on the side table and fill the left over glass with it, the very glass of which twin lay broken on the floor, because if he felt as if his world was being turned upside down with something he hadn't lied to not ever think about, then he could barely imagine what his wife could think of the situation herself. After all, she hadn't kept her sorrow for a childless life a secret; and though he hadn't been able to share upon that sorrow, he also hadn't been entirely ecstatic about the thought of not having any heirs of his own. True, it had not been something that had mattered to him enough to make him think a life full of love by her side wasn't enough, but still, now that he truly thought about it… no; no, he simply couldn't let himself think about it until the physician confirmed what Lucy so obviously thought was not necessary to have confirmed. The truth was… he was terrified, whether the impossible somehow came to happen or not, the happiness he could think to feel came shadowed by the possibility of failure onto this child who hadn't even been confirmed to exist; while, true, he brightened at the thought of having a little mind to shape for himself, he also wondered how apt he was for the situation; not to mention,  _if_ the impossible had indeed come to happen then the pressure to succeed felt even higher for the reality that there was absolutely no way for something miraculous like this to come to be if it wasn't for Aslan himself. He would be watching, like he ever was, he would be hoping, trusting onto Edmund, and—

The knock upon the door came, and though the young King hadn't even realised he  _had_ in the end sat down by Juliet's side to wait, now he rose and easily said "Come in," with the echoes of his heart right against his throat. And it took no more than that for the door to open and for Mrs. Brighton, one of the few Narnian-born humans, to step inside with wide eyes and a Valiant Queen right behind her.

The explanation of what had happened, alongside Juliet's shaken attempts at explaining what she had been going through for months without telling Edmund, did not take that long; what did feel like it took an eternity was the examination itself. It wasn't because Mrs. Brighton took a long time—in fact, Lucy, the only grounded royal within that room, actually thought the whole thing had been entirely too quickly—but because the silence while they waited felt so horribly long and agonising that Edmund and Juliet both would have been able to say the moment had taken hours instead of the few minutes that truly took the physician to come to the very conclusion everyone had been entirely too hopeful and terrified to see: "Your majesties," she told them once she began putting her few instruments in the bag she had carried into the room, smiling from ear to ear and looking from Edmund to Juliet, who held hands so tightly upon the bed that Lucy wouldn't have been surprised if both limbs had gone completely white. "Congratulations, Queen Juliet  _is_  with child."

Lucy was the only one who broke into excited claps and jumps the second the words left Mrs. Brighton's lips, because Edmund was too completely turned over in surprise, love, happiness, and fear, that for that moment he simply did not know what to even say regardless of the little lift his lips so easily and unconsciously made; and Juliet, oh dreaming Juliet who had mourned for so long for the thing she thought she would never be allowed, she no longer trembled, but she beamed, she held onto her beloved Edmund as tight as before, only instead of holding for dear life over the fear and confusion that had driven her before, she held onto him over the knowledge of what she could only truly think of as a miracle; even with the smile now lifting of her lips as she looked at him only, she felt as if suddenly she were stepping into the warmest embraces of a wonderful dream, "How is this possible? I'm…" she began, finally allowing herself to believe regardless of how impossible it all really was because it had been confirmed by someone who knew what she was talking about; indeed, just when she had thought Narnia had shown her all its magic, there it surprised her with more. But how, she wondered as she lifted her only free hand to rest upon her swollen stomach, how was it possible? She wanted, no, she  _needed_ to know how the miracle had come to be because suddenly as she rested her hand there another movement came softly and undeniably against her palm, as if the life within her were telling her  _I'm here,_  as if the little impossibility growing under skin and tissue begged Juliet deeper to understand,  _I'm here, I'm real, mum._  "'Tis all impossible, but I am." Indeed, what else could see do now but be happy? Cry still, yes, for the happiness that so invaded her, but laugh for the impossibility that had come to be; the one thing she had mourned over would have to be mourned onto no more: there  _was_ a life growing inside her, a baby. God, Aslan, and any other being who called itself a deity be praised, she was going to be a mother regardless of all she had been through, all she had experienced, all the sorrow, all the pain, all the injustice, "I am," she said, happy, moving only so she could finally wrap her arms around her husband and cry over the elation that the situation had brought upon her, "I  _am_ with child, oh Edmund…"

Oh, they were both so unsure, but the young King himself felt as if he were waltzing with her right into the great unknown; something that had nearly broken them apart and had kept a time limit on their love, something she had feared and had told him over and over,  _I refused thy brother nay'r only for his lack of love, but for the truth that I am barren, thus no child can come of a union with me, and that, for a King is—_

 _Unimportant,_ he had said, and he had meant it, yet there he was now, holding onto her, keeping her wrapped in his arms and feeling his chest compressing for either elation of fear (or both); the utter euphoria he simply had never felt before (on par perhaps to their wedding) caused an excited grin to finally lift his features, lighting them with some sort of hope he hadn't known he had even held somewhere hidden within him at all; there were even tears beginning to well up upon his eyes even by the time a different sort of fear began taking over his mind, "Will she be alright?" He asked Mrs. Brighton, who had moved on to speak to Lucy the moment he and Juliet had been involved in the little moment they shared.

To his complete relief, the kind physician nodded alongside the smile that remained upon her lips, "As I was telling thy royal sister, your majesty, Queen Juliet shows all the signs of a healthy pregnancy," It was as if another weight had been taken from his mind; because he had known his young sister to have been a near deadly birth for his mother, and ever since then, the fear of childbirth had been hidden deep within him. "Though I would have liked to have kept an eye on her for the first months of it," Mrs. Brighton continued, "yet given the circumstances of her thought inability to bear children I am not surprised neither of us thought about it until now."

It was Juliet who spoke next, pulling away from Edmund with the gentle worry and shock that remained upon her features mixed with the happiness of it all, "How—how far with child am… am I?" And one hand felt almost protectively to the growth she now knew had nothing to do with food and everything with life.

"I can't be specific enough to my taste," the physician said without losing the smile, yet looking apologetic enough, "but judging by what I have felt, I dare say thou art well upon thy fourth or fifth month, your majesty." She paused, "I do expect to be keeping an eye on thee from here on out, but still, given the coming celebration I would say be careful enough so thy lying in need not come until after the High King's wedding, for I believe thy child will be born, by Aslan's will, not long after that."

Impossible, indeed, and Edmund knew exactly who to thank, "As it will be, by Aslan's will," he echoed as his eyes fell away from Mrs. Brighton to the tear-streaked features of his wife; for a partnership quite as intimate as theirs did mean that he was well aware of the miracle the child growing in Juliet's belly carried with it, "For this is his work, I am sure of it." Who else could it be to gift him something so wonderful when Juliet had for centuries and more mourned her barrenness? Hell, even his hand moved to rest softly atop hers onto the swelling that neither of them had thought too much about until that day. For a moment Edmund even felt fragile at the thought of the same and worse fragility that hid in Juliet's womb, something so tiny that would depend on him and Juliet only, whilst the contentedness he had had at his tiny family of two only doubled at the idea of having a real family of their own, defying nature in ways he had never thought were possible and thereafter allowing him to not only have the woman he loved at his side but a future heir as well; an entire dynasty lay protected between them by the time he moved to hold her in his arms again, embracing his whole world as chuckles of relief and happiness escaped his lips. "I love you so much," he told her, and truly, though he had thought it impossible, he seemed to never have loved her more than he did at that moment. "I love you  _both_ so much."

He simply had never understood the will for children until one was to come from him and his wife; before then, the young King simply had not understood Susan's sorrow when he had told them all that he did not care he had to give up kids in order to marry the love of his life; but just like that, just with the news that he had been given upon that mid-summer day he simply finally understood for the happiness that allowed him to forget about the worst bits of pregnancy and the sorrow he could think of if she lost the child the way he knew many women did before birth. He would cry, he would curse, he would resemble the sorrow in his brother's expression when he had found out Athena Ashdown had thought she had been with child when she had not been at all; it had been only a couple of months before, but still Edmund could remember Peter's tears or his stoic expression for the rest of that day and the day after: to mourn for the life of a child that had never been… he could only imagine what it would be like to mourn for one that had.

For that fear Edmund pulled away and simply moved to press a gentle kiss against Juliet's forehead;  _for now,_  he thought,  _let this moment be beautiful and happy_. Only the future would know what came after that; and so it was that he gave in to the happiness, moving a hand to trace the tear that softly fell happy against Juliet's cheek, and cradling her for the moment that was so perfect it made her, as dishevelled as she was and pale, look more beautiful than she had ever seemed, "I want everyone to know," He admitted before he kissed her lips, because he did, he wanted to dance, he wanted to take her in his arms and have them both running about Cair Paravel, disturbing everyone's peace to let them know the most important even that had taken place and have the realm rejoice for the impossibility made possible; no longer would she have to suffer, no longer would he have to feel guilty for not understanding, because just like that they were united in their happiness at once; indeed, he moved closer to her, guiding her with every kiss that was filled with pride and joy by the time the hand upon her cheek fell to rest softly on her middle again, wanting nothing but to feel both of them close to him, safe, healthy, alive. "I must tell the heralds, we must tell Peter and Susan, we—I want everyone to know." And in her joy Juliet could do no more than nod her agreement with the very excitement that rested within her heart. "Do you think we'll have a son?" He wondered with the elation that did not allow him a moment of relaxation; for as passionate a king as he was at times, he knew there would be no way he would be kept far from her until the child came, "Or… maybe a little girl, maybe a daughter?" He had to take a breath, though which his face just inches away from his wife's it was as if she stole hers. "I hope whatever it is they are to be as strong as you and smart as us both, and I—I hope… I hope they enjoy chess, too."

Of course Juliet laughed, and near them so did Lucy, who as much as Edmund and Juliet silently thanked Aslan for the gift he had allowed her brother and her best friend; surely generations would speak about the miracle of the Just King's heir, and that much Edmund was obviously going to love, but at that moment Lucy only cared about the happiness in the room, for it had been one of terror before, one of fear, and now a brand new hope brought with it more peace and joy into the realm: the first prince or princess of Narnia, brought forth by a miracle and to be loved the second its existence was announced into the world. For once, Lucy felt proud, because seeing her best friend so happy and her brother so relieved felt well deserved to the two who had suffered for years upon the thought of their separation, it felt right, it felt just, and it felt perfectly wonderful. "Let me rejoice at the truth that I am with child and not insane, I beg" Juliet began merely a couple of beats after Edmund had spoken, with the remnant smile of the laugh she'd easily expelled, and therefore making Lucy giggle as she held onto the physician and relaxed in joy by the door, "'Fore I start thinking of details such as that."

And she did not have to beg long, because Edmund himself laughed alike and even looked apologetically with the relief upon his eyes; after all, against all odds, against all impossibilities of her even having a second life, the young dreaming and loving Juliet who forever thought she'd be the observer now got to have the entirety of a life that had once been stolen harshly from her; every single speck of a dream, from the man she loved more than anything in the world, to the happy public marriage she never thought she would be allowed; all to be completed in a few months with the bringing of a new life, a real obviously magic-filled life, but more than just the second chance she had thought she had been given upon the creation of her beloved little world. It was a gift, an apology towards all she had suffered, regardless of how unworthy of them she thought she was, but now… now even her earlier fears seemed ridiculous, "For thou mights't not believe me when I confess I had thought myself to have eaten too much for too long, and when I felt him… or her, when I felt it move I thought—I thought I had lost my mind." She finally expressed as she allowed her hands to brush the side of her beloved's hair to rest gently behind his neck, "I thought, aye Strong Queen that thou art, Juliet Capulet, to so have lost thy mind upon a grown stomach and therefore cursing thy husband to a life of suffering for insanity such as this." But at least she was smiling, laughing alike Edmund and Lucy, joyous in such a way that mirrored him because at least she could have a dream come true, "But a child… oh, Edmund, a child." And thus she hugged him and rejoiced once again over the very thing she realised within the impossibility that the truth brought: that something she had not been aware of hours before suddenly became her whole purpose in the world, that the little life she had refused to believe in suddenly held as big a part of her heart as the man she had married, and that the love she had once sworn only to belong to Edmund Pevensie now also held space for another life, another hope, another unexpected happiness alleging of completion onto her world, and soon the world would know and happiness would not only be her own.

Of course, such a happiness and hope did not equate to her giving up on answers, for whilst she was not one to refuse a gift, she was also well aware—more for her time with the High Protectors than in Narnia—that everything always came with a prince; so what would be the prince for her joy? What would she have to give away in order to repay whatever force or being that had made such a thing possible? Had it been Aslan as Edmund had said? Had it been the Protectors? Had it been both? Whoever it had been she simply wanted to know, and whilst she allowed the joy of the moment to take over her as the others in the room who thereafter left and accompanied her to share the news, she forced the little note of question to set itself upon a corner in her mind; not to be forgotten, not to be ignored, but pressingly remain onto the request of answers if she could, for out of the two possible sources, only one rested in her power to reach. Something to which, sure, she was even unsure to do, for who was she to  _demand_ answers from those higher in position than her? But she was who she was, she was  _how_ she was: always curious, always needing answers, ad above all, always stubborn, so she would do what she had to do to reach the Protectors. Yet that left the other source, the one she was almost completely sure was to thank for what miracle had come into her life, but how, oh how, could she talk to him when she did not know when he'd return? All she knew was that she needed answers, and at least now she had a perfect idea of where to at least begin:

She needed to speak to Aslan.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTE:** One week later than was planned for technical difficulties, but everything is back to normal from here on out, with the last eleven chapters of this story to come without a pause from today until the end of the story. I thank you all for waiting patiently during my little adventure, and I hope you love the conclusion of this little thing when it comes as much as I loved writing it. Eleven more weeks; I couldn't thank you enough for your love of this weird pairing of mine as well as the crazy mix of a world with Jas; simply thank you. I hope you enjoy, and please, even if not for my writing, smile at least once simply because you can. x
> 
> ~Mel

─ ♚ ─

After Juliet Capulet's pregnancy had been confirmed there was absolute celebration in the realm; Susan nearly cried from happiness, Peter joked to Juliet that all of her troubles, fears, and refusals, which had come connected to her inability to bear children, had been for nothing, Lucy cheered, clapped and rejoiced along all of the nobles at the news of a coming heir, and Edmund, just as he had known he would do, stuck to Juliet's side at all times that he was free to do so, and while he wasn't, he was anxious about missing anything that could happen to her; but it was Juliet who hadn't been entirely able to freely and without worry rejoice at the gift she had been given for the single necessity of the answers she had not yet been able to receive. The gratefulness remained for weeks after the news had been happily gifted, and in her dreams she many times could see herself holding the little baby boy she imagined having—one with Edmund's eyes and the Capulet hair—and, of course, she absolutely enjoyed the talk that came with it all of preparing a crib and making maternity dresses for when she grew so much that even the blue dress she so loved didn't fit her anymore; thus, yes, she was happy, happier yet than when she had discovered she could be allowed to love and live without being only an observer, but still, even that happiness had been tainted by the wariness of her situation, the wonder of exactly what the price she had been sure would be asked of her for the love of a child to be given; indeed, what was the catch?

And it wasn't as if she didn't even once attempt to get the answers, because she did, every afternoon for a couple of weeks she had talked into the mirror of her private chambers in the Western Wing just after her morning duties had ended, and she had called, spoken, asked for the Protector using her Nurse's face, but no one had come; she had stayed in that room for hours until she had to forcefully leave so the rest of her Head of Household duties could be done, and she had simply given up and found herself worrying deeper day by day regardless of how the physician told her that she shouldn't worry or put too much stress on herself for the sake of the baby. But, oh, she did worry, and though she did not even tell Edmund about it, it was obviously clear that he knew, for every single time he was around her he tried to comfort her, and even once, without much of a prompt or anything that could truly make him think or know exactly what she worried about, he had kissed her temple softly and told her "It was Aslan's doing," Sure, that single statement only served to show how well her husband knew her, but God, if only that were enough for him to be able to give her the answers she looked for, because it very much could have been Aslan's doing, but it also could have been the Protectors, and if it was them…

Prices, prices, prices; it was those she worried the most when it came to them.

It wasn't until a week after she had given up trying to talk to the High Protectors that one of them did come to her at last one warm afternoon, when she had been laying on her bed trying to relieve a back ache that had begun with her even bigger belly, and had thus hoped to sleep a little bit regardless of the time; she had been laying there, as peaceful as she could be with that pain on her back, when her name had been softly called from somewhere near. At once she had known it was no friend of Narnia, nor any of the Kings and Queens, Lord Peridan, or Athena (for only they called her by her name instead of her title against what she had attempted with everyone else) but it had indeed taken a couple of moments for her to realise she did recognise the voice coming from the left: it had been the one she had been wishing for, calling for, and fearing she would never see again, "Nurse?" She had called, sliding across Edmund's side of the bed with some effort and standing up much faster than she should have been able to with the hopes of pausing in front of the mirror that had first made her dream of pregnancy barely past a month before; upon that mirror was not her reflection but her Nurse, that old woman who had cared for her all that time before, though in truth, it was not the Nurse at all, but the Protector who had used her face millennia before, the one who had failed on saving her from Romeo's murderous ambition. "Whence hast thou been?" She wondered as one hand moved to rest upon the great swell of her stomach and the shadow of her frown invaded her forehead at once, "I have called and called, and yet—"

But the old woman's expression of shock and surprise, expelled through a single "Goodness!" and a gasp, were enough to silence the young Protector and make her take a step back as the old woman studied her from head to toe, with her hands covering her lips as if she couldn't believe it, as if she would sooner have expected to see the young girl bloody and battered instead of the way she stood upon that moment, "I leave thee naught more than six months and somehow thou art with child?"

Was that horror Juliet saw in the woman's eyes? She didn't know how else to think of it, "Indeed," she replied in turn, trying to ignore the alarm in the High Protector's quickly judging eyes "'tis in fact that very theme I wish to speak of."

But it was as if she hadn't spoken at all, for she had been about to quickly inquire onto her very worries when the old woman's hands fell away from her lips and a stern expression crossed her features at once, "Thou hast married, too?" she easily wondered; for it was the beautiful silver and crimson ring resting on Juliet's finger as she lay her hand on her belly that the old Protector appeared to be focusing on, "How couldst thou possibly—"

"For love," Juliet easily responded before the woman could finish, only this time instead of confusion her features twisted in the very anger the other's inquiry brought along; anger that, if she was quick to remember, had been there exactly the last time they had spoken many years before, if only a few months for the High Protector, "is that not the very thing we protect? The very end for which means bring along many Protectors' incarcerations within worlds of nothing alike I hath suffered long ago?" She wondered as she took the same step forward that she had before taken back, "Aye, Nurse, I  _am_  with child, and I am married to whom I ardently believe to be my true soul-mate, the love this heart hath there meant to reclaim, and the very same for which I now believe I was meant to be betrayed as a young girl, so that I could die, become a Protector, and end up here, for Aslan, for Edmund, for this child, for the love this world doth hold for me, and the very magic for which mine heart beats.

But, alas, I must confess," The Strong Queen said after a pause as her other hand moved to join the first's rest atop the swell of her stomach and her shoulders fell within the very bewilderment that easily expressed upon her face; her eyes then lifted without having been noted to have fallen to her stomach before, so she could look into the shadowed expression on her Nurse's features, "I have been calling for days, weeks, for thee all with hopes that thou couldst possibly explain how I could carry life within me when I do not bleed, I do not, I  _have_  not, yet…" her head shook. "Thine own surprise speaketh more of thy lack of fault than any word thou might express." Even her hands made soft fists against the fabric of her new red dress, as a brand new knot had to be forced away from her throat by a gulp before she finally said, "'t'was not thy work, was it? This miracle cometh not by thy hands."

To her surprise, the old woman in the mirror scoffed, again reminding her that she was not actually her nurse, but a cheap copy meant to make her feel relaxed; in truth, by this point, it did the complete opposite. "Aye, t'was not Our work, thou canst be sure of that;" she begrudgingly confessed, dusting off skirts that on that mirror definitely looked too clean to dust, "Though surely thou couldst ask that Lion thou sendeth me away for last time, and there I suspect he will say aye, but though I know not how to explain thy current condition, thy words, my girl, do explain a lot to me."

To that much, at least, regardless of the High Protectors' jab against Aslan alike the last time (for which she would be sure to reclaim against soon enough), the immortal frowned, "What dost thou mean?" She wondered, "My words? Ever, what have I said?"

The old woman's hands clasped in front of her as she released a gentle breath, "I did not plan of speaking of this to thee, but by thine own honesty I believe I owe you this much," she told her, with a brand new sort of relief Juliet did not know how to explain, "Your Romeo is—"

"Nay, he be not mine," the girl had interrupted, flinching away from the word, and softly laying her hands on her stomach still, as if to protect the child growing within her from the curse of his name, "Nor was he ever, as I have come to understand."

Nurse released an exasperated breath, "Fine, then," even her hands lifted and fell with frustration at her sides, "Romeo, cursed be his name if thou wilt it, is weakening; for months now we High Protectors have been wondering how the Lifeless' strongest recruit hast become their weakest, he is barely able to move, barely able to possess someone, barely able to do anything at all, he…" Her head shook, and those old hands of hers held onto the skirts that perfectly mirrored the ones Nurse had once upon a time worn, "Juliet, we believe he is dying." She said, and absolutely nothing made sense then; not for the young girl who stared with a frown at the person within the mirror and much less for the heart that suddenly felt itself falling down onto the bottom of her risen stomach.

"Dying?" the protector echoed, her eyes searching the old woman from head to toe as if something in her clothes or her wrinkled skin could give way to the truth that the words were nothing but a test; but she found none, and though the truth was that the sudden pain young Juliet felt within her heart was not the sort she perhaps would have felt if the news came when she had still been alive in Italy, her heart  _did_  still hurt, and almost immediately she had to take a couple of steps back to hold onto one of the posts of the big bed she shared with Edmund with one hand and the bottom of her swollen belly with the other. In fact, her head shook, "But that's impossible," she said frowning, and a sort of fog fell over her mind almost at once.

The woman in the mirror nodded, "Aye," she said, "near as impossible as thy being with child, yet it is, and thy claimed love for this Narnian king of yours dares explain it all, I am sure of it."

"What?" Juliet wondered, feeling worse for the fog in her head that only made everything her Nurse said feel stranger than it truly was, "Thou blames't me? My love for Edmund?"

The old woman scoffed again, and for once Juliet wished she could feel a little less if only to tell her to stop being so arrogant regardless of her station, but at that moment she simply dared not, "I know not if I wouldst call it blame," the woman wearing of her Nurse's face said with a smile so hateful that the shock in the young girl's head began shifting into anger once again, "But aye, by thy love for Romeo ceased, and the magic of a soul-mate repositioned onto thy heart and thy King's, Romeo plainly no longer has magic to pull from, and thus that sacrifice he made when thou were but a child worketh no longer," she nodded, "Indeed, dear Juliet, thy words explain it well: thou thinks't Romeo never to have been thy soul-mate, and thy belief of it, though part of thy heart clearly still holds a part of his, worketh against Romeo entirely, and… I dare say: if soon thou shalt forget him completely, he  _will_  die. The magic he stole from thy heart will no longer work, for it will be for naught other than thine Edmund, as I believe… it highly already is."

If the old lady knew her well then she would be able to know that absolutely no part of her heart was Romeo's any longer, for she  _had_ cursed and forgotten the name entirely, and thus been thankful for the freedom to love when she had realised it existed at all; but to have such a big part of her past gone… yes, she was glad, glad for that girl who had hated him for so long and had even fought him back on Earth for the poor souls of those who loved deeply; but somehow, she was also… sad. It wasn't a sadness that could cause her more than a gentle moment of shock alike it had come, for Romeo Montague had stopped meaning anything to her for a long time, but it remained a gentle sorrow that mourned the very love he had once claimed to have felt for her. It was pity, it was disappointment, and to one extent it was even relief: with his true death every single speck of the worst part of her life was gone; and so the news was received and questioned until Nurse herself ended up telling her that it would serve better to leave it be, for one less Lifeless in the world was a blessing and what better terms to part with than her being actually glad a love like Edmund Pevensie's had come into Juliet's heart if it meant an enemy could be gone?

That night, while Edmund softly played the piano for her in their library and Juliet lay upon the couch to hear him the way she had done endless times since their wedding, she spoke to him about everything she had learnt, and though a relief much stronger than the one she had felt clearly showed upon the King's features at the thought of Romeo's death, it was not him his words spoke of, but the gentlest  _I told you so_ masked in the lift of his lips that quickly spoke of the wonderful gifts of Aslan's will, "I knew Aslan was to thank, I just knew it." And so Juliet would as well. Of course, it didn't mean that she had given up on her need for answers, but at least from that day on, she knew the only one she could even think to ask was the great lion himself; and for him there could be nothing but patience, for there was no summoning him in any way. Would he come before the child did?

She could only hope.

And thus with that thought, at least the young Protector was able to go on with her life, less worried and more hopeful for the moment she would be able to hold her child in her arms, and dreaming of the day the last worry in her mind could be set aside, when Aslan himself would appear and tell her truly how her pregnancy could have come to be. The days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months in turn, summer rested upon the edge of ending, and by the time Juliet proved near the very end of her term the wedding of Athena Ashdown and the High King of Narnia loomed no more than two weeks away; it shouldn't have been a surprise that the young immortal simply refused to entirely 'lie in' as tradition demanded of pregnant Queens, but somehow Edmund still was taken aback and had no other option than to worry endlessly whenever Juliet decided to leave the bedroom, or worse, alike that very day, the castle in its entirety; and as if that weren't enough to make him worry, she also refused protection, claiming she would have Isabella by her side, and her daggers. "You can't possibly be thinking of fighting in your condition," he had reclaimed.

But nothing more than his wife's rolling eyes met his words, "Nay, not 'less it be necessary; besides, I am only going to the beach; doth thou not trust me?" She wondered playfully.

"You, I trust." He reminded her, tying the ribbons of her cloak securely with a sort of softness that he still only showed with her and therefore proved lovely to see for anyone witnessing the scene, "it's the rest of the world I don't; what if some Calormen ended up all the way here on the very day you decide to go to the beach alone?"

"I won't be alone, I'll have Is—"

"Isabella is not a guard," Edmund interrupted, fixing the folds of her cloak over the big swell of her belly without looking away from her eyes.

He definitely should not have been surprised to see the disapproval in them for what he had said, "Isabella is as good a horse as Phillip, I couldst nay'r be safer."

"You could if you took a guard with you." He disagreed.

"Edmund," Juliet protested, folding her arms just over her pregnant belly and staring at her husband with a stern expression that truly only served to remind him of one of the many reasons he had even fallen in love with her in the first place.

Stubborn as he; no one could sway her once she'd made up her mind. The Just King simply gave up by the lifting of his hands by the sides of his face, "Fine, fine." He told her, "But don't come asking tonight why I look paler than usual, if I'm worried all day it'll be because of you, your Majesty; going off on an adventure with our unborn child for a day as if you shouldn't be lying in instead, resting."

At least, at that, Juliet smiled, lowering her arms and moving to give her beloved husband a soft kiss on the lips. "I shan't be gone  _all_ day, I promise," she told him when she pulled away, "I wish for nay'r more than a last moment to myself whilst I can have it; after all, if the physician is to be believed, this child will come shortly after the wedding, and I have still a lot to prepare for  _that_  event here in the castle; thus, this here might be my last opportunity, and I plan to take it."

Edmund's lips pressed together as he brushed his Queen's hair behind her ear, "Well, I won't stop you." He told her with the forceful appearance of a concerned smile as he moved aside for the her to move past him only after the gentle squeeze she gave to his hand; and it was only when she had almost well gone past his field of vision down the gardens toward the eastern gates that he very easily muttered "Not that I could, anyway," and headed back within the castle to try and hide his endless worry with the many duties he had waiting for him as Head of Justice, and King.

Juliet, on the other hand, held a smile upon her lips that proved contagious to those guards along the grounds as they bowed in her direction and made her feel slightly inadequate for the millionth time since she had been crowned; yet unlike barely a couple of days after her coronation her discomfort did not last long anymore, instead she now accepted the respect and majesty with a bright smile and helped the echoes of discomfort to dissipate by continuing to remind herself that though she never wished for a crown, one had been placed upon her head by Aslan's will, and it was thus that she was able to seem one of the softest Queens Narnia had ever had (hence the second title those loving subjects of the country had given her), recognisable even as she walked through the big gates without a crown and clothes fit for a Lady of status less royal than her, her beautiful horse by her side, and that smile that reached her eyes so strongly adorning every word of conversation or question in direction of the mute horse she had grown to love and admire so much.

The wind played with her hair as she went time later past the familiar woods into the sandy shore, with the waves whispering a song of promise into her ears in such a way that made her wish to let go of Isabella's little bit of mane she held onto and dance along the soft sands of the eastern beach in tune to the echo of the waves crashing against the rocks that adorned her surroundings; from the familiar little triangular patch of gray stone a mile away, to the beginnings of the small cave that had begun forming at the furthest end of the beach. It was a wonderful place of peace and beauty where, if she turned about to look in the direction she had come from, the beauty of Cair Paravel towered over her by a protective hope of towers, gardens, and even the little window where she could imagine her husband writing away into the manuscripts that he had been working on for years since he became King. She wanted to run along the shore the way she had done endless times since even before she had met Edmund and his family, she wanted to dance, twirl, look upon the sky and spin until dizziness sent her tumbling down onto the soft sand under her feet; but for the first time in her second life, she dared not do such a thing, and instead felt the corners of her lips lifting in a smile when one of her hands rose to rest upon the loved reminder of her limitations: her child, moving about under her flesh and even hitting against her palm like a little recognition onto who she was seconds after she had spoken only to it. Isabella had gone on her own to enjoy the wonder of the waves by splashing about and whinnying with so much happiness that Juliet herself felt as if she were the one dancing on the ocean; oh, that she were.

Though a small speck of guilt did come upon her heart for the simple truth waiting over the mountain toward the castle: those that worked alongside her for the well of the place, the organisation, and the intent to put all of Queen Susan's plans and wishes into action, would be wondering where the pregnant Queen was, even if she hadn't exactly been secretive about it, they would look for her, they would go along and wonder just what it was that they had to do that day to prepare for the coming royal wedding; but the beauty of the beach alongside the soft breeze against her flesh made her forget about everything almost completely. Almost, because within her mind were ideas of decoration for the great hall, almost, because she never wished to be the sort of Queen that let everyone else do her job for her, but almost instantly completely, because suddenly there was a deep voice behind her softly calling her name in such a familiar way that it made the young Italian feel as if a warm blanket had been wrapped around her shoulders by caring hands. "Juliet," it said, at first echoing as if from the very breeze that played with her hair and made that beautiful silver winter cape dance and wave away from her ankles in soft silent flaps; when the voice came again it felt as if it had come directly from her heart, for it beat wildly within her chest and made the rays of the great sun fell warmer against her cheeks, as if it were the middle of Summer instead of the end. "Juliet," But the third time the name came, the familiarity of it shocked her so fully that slowly the girl opened her eyes, not even having realised that she'd closed them before, and allowed herself to turn softly to look at her side.

And there he was, majestic as ever, smiling in her direction with long whiskers and eyes bright and strong, the print of his paws disappearing with the fading waves as if he had been there all along; a breath escaped the girl's lips as they shortly parted, and a smile to match his showed the relief that quickly after left when she finally said, "Aslan." And fell to her knees the way she would have done if it had been her father that had just called for her; as ever the respect remained, and the ease with which the great lion was used to dealing with Lucy Pevensie could not come regardless of how much he might wish it; at least, not in the way it came with her, for yes, Juliet gave him a little hug (perhaps the second in the whole time since he had first appeared to her upon the creation of the world), but it did not come before she had kneeled, nor without difficulty over the big swollen belly that spoke of her coming future better than her words could. "Oh, sense comes at last," she said by the time she stood again, lest her whole dress filled with sand as its hem and her boot soles had, "Aye, I understand now."

The warmest of chuckles left the lion's lips as he sat in such a way that it made Juliet suddenly think of the cat she had had as a human young girl, "What do you understand?" He wondered with an unmoving smile and the tip of his tail brushing against the sand under him.

"Why I had to come today, of all days," Juliet tried to explain, resting her hands on the swell of her belly once again for the mere comfort it brought her, "I've thus thought of coming here for a while now, but ne'er that I could; duty stopped me, tiredness stopped me, even Princess Juno stopped me once, to talk, to sing, to…" Her head shook as the smile on her lips broke into a giggle that got lost with the crashing of the waves, "Aye, but this morrow I awoke and I said, 't matters not what any may say, I shall go to the beach to-day'. And, of course… it makes sense; t'was you." The urge had been there, the need to dress as warmly as possible for what could be a cold day at the beach—not that Isabella seemed to notice it if anyone could judge by the way she kept splashing about as if the water were as warm as a personal bath—had been there, and now there she was, side by side with the smiling great lion as if it were something so absolutely normal and common that no one could be surprised that the horse playing in the water took a little bit of time to realise Juliet was no longer alone. "Thou comest for the wedding, haven't you?"

His mane danced with the breeze as his head bobbed in a single nod, "As I came to yours, dear one," he told her, quickly faced with the shocked expression of the young Italian as she turned to look at him completely, as ever perfectly outwardly with her own emotions with the question perfectly printed upon her features; of course that comforting deep chuckle left through the lion's smiling lips again, "You didn't think I'd miss such an important day, did you?"

"But, Aslan," she began, wide eyes bright with the newfound joy so nicely gifted by his simple words, "Naught a soul saw thee, how…?"

"A disguise," He said, looking at her with a smile that so easily reached his eyes, "One I will have to don again for the festivities this coming week," His voice would have been enough to make the girl feel warm and whole, but that smile of his, with the yellow of his eyes so beautifully sparkling for the happiness he showed, made the pregnant Queen think that, perhaps, nothing wrong could ever come to haunt their little corner of the world again, even by the time his eyes fell away from her and toward the slowly approaching horse that had finally noticed him. "But I have not come to speak of my disguises, dearest—Good day, Isabella." The horse had reached them, and though words were forbidden to her over her born muteness, a little whinny did escape her as she lowered onto a perfect bow. The lion chuckled, and nodded respectfully to the pretty mute horse. "You need not stop your playing on account of me, my child." He said with the smile lifting his whiskers enough to make him seem much softer than any lion had a right to look, but with him it simply made sense, "Your happiness is welcome and much desired, for you are not only a great and loyal friend, but you are humble, kind, and thankful for what you have regardless of what was taken from you, much alike the Queen you have chosen for your rider, and for it, alike your protection of her, you have my thanks."

A simple whinny left Isabella's smiling lips, her hooves lifting the sand she stood on for a couple of excited moments before a bow lowered her frame once again, and though it didn't take more than another smiling nod of the lion to send the horse to play upon the cold waves again, Juliet's forehead was invaded by a little frown that made her hands wrinkle the fabric of her dress upon the swell of her stomach; she was at least patient enough to wait until Isabella was well out of earshot for the one thing that had seemed odd about his words to come tumbling curiously from her soft lips, "I beg thy pardon if it be not my place, but…" she shouldn't have been surprised to see the lion already looking at her, with a heavy look upon his yellow eyes and a tiredness familiar to her on him appearing for the first time that day, "…for her lack of voice I know not Isabella's story, thus I ask: what was taken from her?"

His gaze fell to the sand, and a sort of shame crossed his features so clearly that it made his ears fold back and his tail almost wrap neatly around his legs; but it was sadness that carried in his gaze, or so Juliet had recognised before that gaze fell away from her, "The very voice she lacks, I am afraid. It was stolen from her a long time ago," his eyes lifted to look in the direction of the happily splashing horse.

But still, to the young queen it simply did not make sense, "I thought she had been born mute," she admitted, following the direction of his gaze and further wondering everything she did not know about the horse she so dearly thought of as her friend.

But it was Aslan's words that made her look at him again, "She was," he said, in the same sad tone as before. "But that does not change the fact that her voice was stolen from her long before she was born, from her and the rest of her family. It was a curse, a magic so powerful laid by the Witch that I have failed to find a cure for;" his eyes turned to look at Juliet again, so apologetic and sad that the girl could find heart of doing nothing more than standing ever closer to him and placing one of her hands upon his mane, ever failing to get used to his size, which, as ever, was almost slightly higher than her own. "Her parents were great advocates of the movement to defeat the Witch when she first came; they were strong, standing side by side with the King and Queen of that time, serving as the voice of the talking creatures, rallying against the Witch so strongly that they might have even defeated her if it weren't for her magic.

But magic she had, and she used it to silence them," He looked away again, back to the clearly happy horse playing in the water. "She didn't kill them, not for a long time; instead she sent a louder message by cursing them to never be able to speak again, to think as all talking creatures do, to feel the same, but to be able to make no noise other than those meant for horses, so the strength of their voices could never be heard again, so all those who had rallied by their side would run in fear, would hide." A heavy breath left from his lips, and that tiredness seemed to easily return to his shoulders, as if a weight were resting there unmoving, heavy, and unforgettable. "It took longer than the Witch would have liked, but it happened in the end, all creatures hid, all humans died, even some shifted to her side; and when Isabella was born, shortly before they were killed, just like her parents… she was silent, never to be heard." After a short silence, the lion's ears lifted again, and the surprise of the smallest of smiles lifting his features was enough to make Juliet smile alike, "Until King Edmund found her wondering about his Western Wood, and smitten as he was made of her a friend to be able to gift to you."

It should have been no surprise that Juliet's head shook gently before the words she had told her husband upon that day he had introduced her to Isabella left her lips once again, "Nay, she is her own before being mine." And the affection within her voice matched the gentle look she gave the horse, who had chosen to roll upon the sand and whinny with the strange happiness found within her.

It was hard, even for Aslan, to not genuinely smile after that, "And it is by such a thought that she is heard again, alike her parents once were; you have become her voice."

When Juliet's gaze fell upon the lion again, the smile resting upon her lips was so full of happiness for the mare and his mere presence that for that moment, as it had been almost from the very beginning of their conversation, she even entirely forgot the very thing she had been meaning to ask him for months on end; something that was so easily reminded to her when a sharp pain came upon the low of her back and the spot just at the bottom of the swell her stomach made. It was such a feeling that made her hand fall away from the lion's mane immediately so it could rest upon her belly, groaning from the surprise of the pain as much as the inconvenience of it in such a way that Isabella, full of sand and dripping water, swiftly came trotting in her direction whilst Aslan himself moved to serve as some sort of support for the young Queen. "No, no, I—'tis okay, I know it," she even tried to move away from the lion, though not letting go of him as she did, for she refused to  _use_ him as much of a support as he had attempted to be; it did not seem respectful, not to her, at least. "'Tis naught a thing more than a harsh kick, nor is it the first time it happens." But even her breathing came slightly jagged, and her eyes refused to open for a couple of moments as she moved to sit upon the sand, now mindless of her beautiful cape and dress, which would surely be covered in sand when she returned to the castle, for the sake of a moment of rest come from the hours she had been standing since that morning.

Of course, Aslan didn't take too long to sit by her side, his tail wrapping around her as one of his paws moved to rest upon one of her knees; and Isabella, of course, sat opposite him, holding the Queen's weight with a whinny of protest when Juliet tried to move away from her as well. "Juliet," Aslan began, a soft concern come within the echo of his voice as the yellow of his eyes searched the kind Italian's features. "I did indeed call you here, therefore I will be swift with my intent so that you may return to the castle and rest, else—"

"No, no, please, Aslan." Juliet interrupted, the way she never had before, evermore bringing out a smile from the lion for the ease with which she forgot her attempts at being  _too_ respectful when something so mundane as pain shook her. "Please," she repeated. "I  _wish_ to be here, to speak to thee, to ask thee—"

"I know, my dear girl, I know," the lion interrupted alike, though a gentle deep chuckle escaped him as he did, and the pads of his paw patted against her knee. "It's why I have come to you alone; I know what you would ask me." Finally, Juliet's eyes focused on him, though the press of her lips spoke of no more than the fear that had finally come when the last of her options easily came face to face with her: the Protectors had had nothing to do with her pregnancy… did he? One of her hands moved swiftly to rest upon her stomach again, as if the single limb alone could protect the child growing within her from anything that could come to harm it. To her greatest shock, Aslan himself began to shake his head softly and shortly, "I'm sorry, my dearest Juliet, it was not me."

A breath so tightly held within her chest escaped from parted lips, but it was not relief, nor disappointment, nor anything that could seem like anything other than plain fear that made Juliet's fingers grip upon the fabric of her cloak and dress, "Then how?" She wondered with a shaky voice that almost embodied a whisper as she searched for an answer within the lion's yellow eyes; and though she found none, there was something within his gaze that relaxed her even then.

For his smile had returned, and there was a softness in his demeanour that could not possibly speak to anything bad enough for her to worry, and even easily became confirmed when he said, "Nothing bad, I know this much." Even his claws peaked and rested against her knee, comforting as only he would be able to make them seem. "Because I believe I know exactly who made this happen, and she is the least evil being I have ever known."

Juliet's back immediately straightened, and the worry in her eyes simply remained, "Who?" She wondered, but did not leave enough space for him to answer at all. "Please, Aslan. Tell me, I beg, so that I may thank her, so that I may ask her how and wherefore. Who is this woman who hath so gifted me with this life?"

And though Isabella herself might have been able to see the reply coming from a mile away, and therefore smiled and more comfortably supported the Queen, Juliet was nonetheless surprised when the lion's gentle chuckle stopped for a single sentence, "It's you, daughter of Love." One which almost made her beautifully beating heart stop all at once, "This magic belongs to none other than you."

And though the words had been heard, to the young protector they simply made absolutely no sense. "Me?" She wondered with a shortly shaking head, "But Aslan, I… I have no magic of mine own."

Well, at least that much seemed to be agreeable, if Juliet could judge by the lion's nodding head, "That may be true in this land, but this magic has been at work for much longer than the creation of this world." Finally, the soft echo of sadness returned to the lion's features, and for it Juliet did not know what else to do other than remain quiet and wait, for a soft fear made a melody of her heart that brought upon her throat such a knot that she would not have been able to speak even if she'd willed it. "This is not the first time you are with child, dear one. You were thus once, a long time ago, before that horrible death came upon you by the hand of Romeo Montague; it is, in fact then the time in which you held a growing child within you. You see, within that famous crypt in Verona, he didn't only steal one life that night, but two."

Well, that life didn't even truly feel like hers, the one where she had been so young, so wrapped around Romeo's finger for it to end up becoming lethal; and still something deep within her heart felt pulled down onto the very sand she rested on as the welling of a single tear formed upon her eyes, for the idea of her own mourning over her inability to be a mother had come from the very thought that she had never even been pregnant, and yet here she was: being told the complete opposite, and thereafter acknowledging yet another reason to wish a wave of hate would come onto Romeo's name. But, of course, as it had been since Edmund Pevensie had so gently taken hold of her heart, regardless of the tears that fell silent against her cheeks, no ounce of hate would come; not anymore. "But, I…" She began, her head shaking for a short moment as both her hands whipped the tears away before they moved to fix the dress and cape properly over her swollen belly, "I fail to understand, how..." She had to gulp, keep down the very knot that would otherwise render her speechless. "What indeed maketh my—my  _first_  bearing… relevant to this one at all?"

The sadness remained in Aslan's features, but with it also came a soft comfort that continued until the end of that day, and thus gave young Juliet the perfect reason to finally look upon her pregnancy as nothing but a blessing given by time, "It is that you died  _with_ that child in you, Juliet, that remained and thus made you able to bear children here. You died with child, and therefore when the creation of this world touched you, you were made how you had been on that moment a dagger went through your heart: young, human, and with your womb empty of a child that should have grown, ready to hold life again."

"Does that mean that this…" Her eyes fell to the very swell she had been so protective of from the moment she had realised what it meant, "…is Romeo's?"

To her relief, the great lion's head shook from side to side, and the comfort of his paw further pressed on her knee with enough strength that it made her look into his eyes once again, "Not even a little bit, my dear girl. The child that grows within you is proof of nothing but the love you and Edmund Pevensie share. The child bred of your first marriage died with your body, but the emptiness it left within you did not die, and instead remained, so that one day, here, you might bear children again."

Could it truly be so simple? It sounded easy, like a gift, but… well, her long existence by the High Protectors' side had taught her that all that is easy comes with a heavy and horrible price, thus her mind lay heavy with worry, and for it she simply spoke, "What of the flowering of each month?" she wondered, "Long have I lived as a ghost in someone else's mind to know that without flowering there couldst be no child, yet here I sit, not once having flowered in Narnia, yet…"

"Juliet," Aslan easily said, matching with words the whinny that came from Isabella alongside the smile that finally found means to reappear; but he did not speak until Juliet looked at him again, "This is a gift, a blessing even I could not have foreseen when my song touched your heart, but it is so only because of who and what you are; for this immortality you hold by a given vow, and for the way you died, made of your body something never before seen in this or any other world, but it is good, take heart on that." Even his paw moved away from her knee to rest on top of her hand, just upon the very top of her swollen belly as his head softly brushed against the side of hers; a perfect comfort that not many could or would ever be able to say they had received; none perhaps but the Pevensies themselves. "Would that I could tell you the path forward will be easy, dear girl," he continued when he pulled away and finally stood from the ground, shaking his body free of the meddling sand carefully enough so it wouldn't fall on either Juliet or Isabella beside her, "But I am afraid alike it has before, hardship will accompany much coming joy, for you, for this child, and for all those that would or will come after.

You  _must_  be strong, you must remember you are not alone, and above all you must love as you have always loved: strongly, deeply, without limit." He finally moved his paw from her hand, if only so he could lift it and rest it upon her shoulder, "For now more than ever before will your actions work for the good of Narnia, from now… until the stars rain down from the heavens you are and forever will be the compass of this world." He stood tall at last, his four paws deep in the hardening sand of the dying summer, "Thus, I leave you with this, dear one: Trust in your heart as much as you place your trust in those daggers you carry, as much as you trust Isabella, as much as you trust your husband. Trust, love, and be strong. Narnia thanks you, and loves you in return."

And with that, with the very same swiftness with which he first arrived, every single bodily proof that Aslan had stood before her and Isabella only seconds before faded with the very waves of water that almost reached the hem of her dress, with no more than a gentle blink and the reassurance of the goodness she carried within her. Whatever came, however many other things she had to face, she had his word to remember:

Trust, love, and be strong; for Aslan, For Narnia, For Edmund, and for the very child growing within her, she would never be anything but.


	51. Chapter 51

─ ♚ ─

The wedding of the High King and Marchioness Athena Ashdown had been no different to Edmund and Juliet's but for the colours chosen or the trinkets placed upon the marriage platform—with the bright red and gold fixtures at every speck of the hall to match the pretty crimson lace of the bride's dress or the deep gold of the groom's clothes—, but what did differ from the beautiful nearly two year old ceremony that united the Just King and Queen, was that, to the surprise of most of the kingdom, the coronation of the new High Queen had been scheduled to happen mere moments after the wedding had come to an end. Indeed, none but the royals themselves left the hall while creatures, foreigners, and nobles alike were led by Juliet's orders and people to face the thrones within the very same order many had done upon the Kings and Queen's coronations ten years before, and alike Juliet on her day, the not-yet-crowned High Queen could barely even breathe.

She stood alone by request inside the little familiar room behind the thrones, her hair beautifully knotted in a braided crown of her own hair, her frame covered in breathtaking crimson lace that made of her a walking painting that sparkled brighter than all the stars in the sky, with a train worthy of the very Queen she would be called soon, and Peter's ring resting perfectly upon her finger to claim their union for the rest of their lives; but still, her heart beat wildly as her hands opened and closed within the short pacing she attempted in the isolated room, her well uncomfortable heels clicking against the stone floor as she went, and every single thought upon her mind making of the ceremony that would soon come to pass one that she did not deserve to experience at all. It didn't matter that the High King had chosen her, it didn't matter that she had risen perfectly in ranks along the years, it didn't even matter that Juliet Capulet had made it clear that she didn't have to give up any duties as General if she didn't wish to all that time before when she had reclaimed her right to remain Head of Household; all that mattered was that she was simply not a Queen, much less a High Queen. How could she, a simple girl of Ottery St. Mary, England, who had never aspired to anything other than a military life, be anywhere close to worthy to a golden crown? How, when she had felt so lost, tired, broken… oh, no, indeed, she was not a Queen, but a pretender. Peter knew her, yes, but the country did not, and while such might be enough for a marriage, it did not seem to her like it was enough for a coronation. After all, how many people had accused her of marrying only for advantage once the announcement of their engagement had been made? How many had cursed her and spat upon the ground when thinking of the new High Queen? Not many, to be sure—many more countless people had been happy, excited, and completely supportive of the fact—but enough for her to notice, because no, she was no great Narnian legend like Juliet Capulet, who so easily had been accepted as the wife to their youngest King by every single creature in the world, no, she was only a girl who had died a terrible death back on Earth, had thereafter been found in the middle of the woods by Peridan of House Rys, and had been adopted to his house in such a way that she had been able to rise in rank until she was not only Marchioness of Great Delta, but General of the Narnian army. Oh, she was not a Queen, and that crown that soon would be placed upon her head, though perfectly hers as it could seem, did not—could not, belong to her; she was Peter's wife, and that was enough, that was right, that was all she'd ever thought to want, but a crown?  _A crown?!_   _How was she supposed to accept_ —

"Athena?" Oh, she hadn't even heard the door open, much less the steps of the nice shoes worn by her brother as he walked in her direction with a smile that soon after faded when the expression on her face became evident; she could only imagine how—"You're worrying again." Yes, that, how  _worried_ she actually looked; definitely not as happy as a new bride should look… probably.

"No, I'm not." A stubborn note attempted from her lips as her arms lifted to cross under her chest, denying all that was proven simply by a look into her eyes regardless of how her gaze fell to the stone under her feet. "I'm just nervous." It wasn't a complete lie.

And still, Peridan was very obviously able to look right through it, if anyone could judge by the little near-silent chuckle that escaped him, "I think you forget how well I know you, sister."

At least, to that, no other option seemed viable for the young warrior other than to smile, and whatever coldness had been written upon her features moments prior simply went with the wind and left nothing but the warm gaze that lifted in his direction as her shoulders relaxed even if her arms did not. "I'm sorry," she attempted, her head shaking shortly as a shaky breath escaped plainly from her lips, "I'm just…"

"Worried?" Peridan completed, smiling only for the sake of cheering his sister with the teasing truth she had been trying to hide; and though she did smile and even easily rolled her eyes, it only took a couple of moments more before the mirth left her features to give way to a single serious nod. Peridan could work with that, "About the ceremony?" he wondered, taking the one step he had refused to for the good of his sister's personal comfortable space.

Even to her own surprise, so much that even a short breathed scoff left through her nose, the warrior shook her head, "Actually, no; the ceremony's the least of my worries: I know the words I have to say, I know the things I have to do, there's nothing to worry about when it comes to  _that_." And god, did she even sound slightly annoyed about it; because if her worry rested only with the ceremony the Great Hall prepared for as she spoke, then after the day was over that very disturbance in her mind would disappear, but instead she knew very well that the subject of her worries would refuse to dissipate, she feared, even for a couple of years, if ever. "It's the people," she continued after a short pause that saw no more than the lowering of her arms in a small near-ignored flail, "It's my lack of experience as a royal, it's that surely those people will  _see_ it, it's how I'm more of a lost girl than the person this country needs as a High Queen, it's…" but she could go on no longer; for every single worry, when spoken out loud, seemed to float upon the air in twists and turns until it landed around her neck and tightened like a noose that refused to let her speak any longer; she didn't even want to cry, she just…

Well, she wanted to run.

And she was not the only one who knew it, "Athena," Peridan began, knowing the other well enough to know that she wouldn't actually run, but wishing with the entirety of his heart to ease the worries of her mind, therefore closing the distance between them and moving to reach for his sister's hands, softly, the way he had perhaps only done what felt like a lifetime prior when he had been helping her get used to what he thought of as normalcy in Narnia. "Look at me," he encouraged, keeping the gentle lift of his lips specially by the time she finally did as he asked, and those beautiful green eyes of hers lifted to look into his, "It's true, you have no experience, but neither did the Kings and Queens when they first arrived, you know that," he began, looking only into her eyes for the good of his sincerity, "You came from the same world they came from for a reason only Aslan knows; but I am sure you are exactly in the path he meant for you. And, sister…" He said, one of his hands letting go of hers so it could lift to rest against the softness of her rosy cheek whilst his voice echoed with the very admiration he simply refused to hide from her, "you are not lost, nor does anyone think you are; by Aslan's name, you are the General of the Narnian army, the Marchioness of the Great Delta, risen there only by  _your_  own will and talent, you are a very close friend of the royals, you are respected, you are loved, you are  _strong,_  and I know for a fact that you have long stopped being that girl I found lost in the woods all those years ago." He paused, nodding only for his own conviction, "I see it, the Kings and Queens see it, and I am sure the rest of Narnia sees it too; I just wish  _you_ could see it yourself, so you could believe this simple truth: that the world doesn't see a lost girl, it sees only their High Queen." And let nothing in the eyes of the man say otherwise.

In fact, the very security in his gaze was what tore the warrior into a million pieces full of nothing but relief; because, sure, she couldn't truly see in herself any part of which he spoke—all she ever saw in the mirror was that broken girl who mourned the loss of her family, knew nothing of the next step she was going to take, and made of everyday the best she could regardless of how lost she actually felt sometimes—but the admiration in his voice, as much as the familiar comfort of his mere presence was enough to set a warm blanket of support and love around her shoulders in such a way that not only made her arms relax, but allowed the welling upon her eyes release singularly as she moved swiftly to wrap her arms around her brother at once. Words failed her, but her emotions did not, for her heart beat wildly within her chest, and though the initial fears that had made her will for solitude did not entirely disappear, a sort of peace grew within her strongly enough that she knew she could go through with the ceremony without  _entirely_ seeing hatred in the eyes of those who would have nothing but support and joy, "Thank you, Dan." She said; her thanks echoing not only for that very moment but for the many other times he had been there for her ever since that day within the Narnian woods, "I know I already said this last night, but I'll say it now and until the day I die, I'm sure:" She wiped the single tear away without letting him go, "Even if the same blood doesn't run through our veins, you are my family… my brother. Thank you."

The embrace was easily reciprocated, with the smile perfectly present in the Lord's lips regardless of how he had to be careful that the buttons of his sleeves didn't get stuck on the lace of Athena's crimson dress, "I'll always be here, Thena," he echoed, for once mindless of the clicking sounds of the door behind him as he held onto his adoptive sister, "Always."

Though wrapped upon the thankfulness of her own heart onto Peridan, the new High Queen was not able to ignore the opening door as much as him, and the smile on her lips easily remained when the graceful and beloved King she had married stepped through the threshold with a smile of his own to make the gold of the crown he wore seem dull, "My love," he called, making her brother finally realise they had been somewhat interrupted by her new husband and releasing her swiftly enough to turn around and face Peter at once, "Dan," He greeted before his eyes returned to the image of the crimson clad girl he simply would thereafter refuse to let go of: his wife. "It's time," And time it was.

Time for Athena Ashdown to be crowned High Queen of Narnia.

♦

It was so much easier to watch a coronation pass upon the sidelines than on the very centre of its mark, or so Juliet Capulet thought as she stepped up the very same steps Athena had done upon her same position when it had been her own coronation what felt like a lifetime prior; of course, unlike the warrior then, Juliet was not only wearing her own crown, but she was also so heavily pregnant that she shouldn't even have been allowed to walk, let alone climb steps unaided, but being a Queen herself she had been able to force her freedoms onto anyone who tried to stop her (Edmund very much included) so that she would be as much master of crown as Athena had been for her for the sake of the friendship that had formed between the two along the many passed years. The hall remained decorated in the red and gold of the wedding ceremony, regal as it had been in that celebrated moment before, but not one person faced that platform anymore, instead all eyes rested upon the very thrones otherwise expectant of the royals who stood in front them, smiling for the words Athena had just spoken, the way Juliet had spoken them on her own coronation day; and though everything had been the same as that afternoon all those months before, there was one difference that marked the higher status meant for the High Queen, and that was the beautiful ring of gold and silver that accompanied her crown upon the cushion Juliet carried.

One that Peter Pevensie quickly took hold of after the effort-filled curtsy from the Strong Queen and easily lifted above Athena's head like a little halo of hope before strongly pronouncing, "This here is the royal ring of Queen Helen, first of her name, first royal of Narnia, ruler by the side of King Frank of the same title, whose ring there rests upon my own hand;" Juliet only stood there, smiling, thankful she had not had to live through a High crowning herself for the sake of her own sanity, and waiting until the moment would come when Peter would take the crown from the cushion she held, and therefore give her the only cue necessary for her to walk away to stand by Edmund's side as the Queen she was for the rest of the ceremony, "Presenting this to you I ask for confirmation of the promise given before all nobles and friends: do you, Athena of House Rys, accept the responsibility of all High Queens before you, promising to care for all the ails of the country as if they were your own, assuring the people's food before the one on your table, caring for the education of all its children as if they had all been born of your flesh, and guiding the army as you might deem secure for the sake of the kingdom?"

Of course the small part about the army at the end had been added per request of Peter himself, for Athena had already reclaimed her own freedom to remain General alike Juliet had done onto being Head of Household, and the High King had wanted to world to know just how proud he was of his warrior wife who had the softness of any woman around him, but the strength needed for the person who would lead the Narnian armies in all battles; it was why, Juliet guessed, it seemed easier for Athena's smile to come about as faintly as it did as one bob of her head accompanied the solemnity of her words, "I do, I promise in the name of Aslan." It wasn't as if anyone had doubted her answer, but still it felt a relief in the heart of the young Italian as was evident for the smile that lifted her lips; Queen or not, there was nothing that could make her mirth be hidden as Peter slid Helen's ring on Athena's finger and soon after took the golden crown from the cushion Juliet held. Then, and only then, did the protector attempt another difficult curtsy before she moved away from the High King and Queen to stand in front of her own throne, the beautiful one that joined Edmund's by the armrest, as if they had always been one and the same.

"Then stand, High Queen Athena, Empress of the Lone Islands, Marchioness of the Great Delta, Lady of Cair Paravel, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion," Peter said, standing by the side of his wife once the beautiful matching crown had been placed on her head, and letting her, as Edmund had done Juliet, stand on her own for a couple of moments for the people to see her as a Queen on her own right alike. "Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen," And indeed, she rose, with the crimson gown making her look royal and bright enough to match her husband, who stood straight in the pride his wife brought him; Helen's ring glistened with the rays of the sun, her crown shone brightly alike a star of its own, and at last all were able to adore their new High Queen when the final words left Peter's lips, "May your wisdom grace us until the stars rain down from the heavens."

The cheering begun, alongside the echoes of "Long Live Queen Athena!" but for a moment, regardless of how her hand held onto Edmund's in unity and love, Juliet was unable to think of anything else but the words spoken by Aslan so securely a week before,  _for now… until the stars rain down from the heavens you are and forever will be the compass of this world._ And because of it, the one hand that had kept hold of the cushion of the crown she had carried into the room lifted to rest softly against the intimidating swell of her stomach; soon after, Juliet's own voice joined the last echoes of support for Athena, bringing the ceremony to an end.

That did not, by any means, mean that the celebrations were over; on the contrary, for not too long after the coronation had come to an end, the ball and reception for both the ceremonies celebrated that day was being held upon the ballroom at the centre of the castle, the only place outside of which the stairs to each different wing met; and though all joy and congratulations had been passed out from the moment the High King and Queen entered the room, both Edmund and Juliet were perfectly able to note the pretty daze Peter found himself in as he watched Athena accept the loyalty and support of all the nobles that approached her. They nearly giggled like best friends at the notion, but though Edmund smiled with amusement as he held onto Juliet's hand with one of his and a goblet of wine with the other, a speck of understanding came upon his mind, for had he not felt the same when he had seen Juliet acting as Queen for the first time? "Come on," He told her, smiling for the happiness of his own heart as much as his brother's, to congratulate him and shake him from whatever reverie he so evidently refused to step out of as he looked at the new High queen; Juliet followed happily, of course, though rather difficultly for the very pain that had refused to fully dissipate from her hips since the moment she had stepped away from the throne room after the ceremony, but she made no noise nor any complaint, lest she be told to go rest and be unable to convince people otherwise. "Coo-ey!" Edmund called to Peter, who finally seemed to blink, pulled away from hypnotism, and look in their direction as Juliet took a sip of the juice she held in her own goblet. "You're in a daze, Pete," the Just King joked, letting go of Juliet's hand only for the sake of patting his brother on the arm; what he didn't know was that the freedom of her hand allowed her to attempt putting pressure upon the side of her swollen stomach as another pang of pain came about uncalled for; "We've been to the buffet table and back, yet you're still stuck on the same spot, did the ceremonies baffle you that much?" He said; wrapping an arm around Juliet, who had given her goblet to one of the workers of the castle for the nausea the pain had begun to bring her.

What good would it do to barf in front of all the nobles and friends of Narnia when they were celebrating the marriage of their High King and the crowning of his wife? "What is there to do or say now?" Peter wondered as he looked to them both with a smile so wide it was a surprise it didn't break his face, Juliet simply couldn't remember the last time she had seen him so absolutely happy, "If I were to have said to my adolescent self that I was going to wed the scruffy army girl from the Great Delta, he would have laughed and called me a dreamer." He even breathed a short chuckle to match Edmund's amusement, as if he couldn't fully believe his fate, and… well, judging by his words, clearly he didn't. "You know, perhaps I kept taking the Magnificent of my title out of proportion in my youth, for I was a peculiar boy who wouldn't stop believing he was a hero, but…" His eyes moved away, no longer looking at Edmund or Juliet, but the crimson clad Queen that had begun moving with the crowd as they began to part for the moment in the celebration that would come next, "…that was definitely before I realised what a  _true_ hero was; because at last, I think I have finally realised that it has been  _her_ all along."

"Yes,"  _Well, her and my wife,_ Edmund thought but said nothing about it as he looked in Juliet's direction and finally noted the discomfort she seemed to show as she looked upon the ground and used her other hand to place pressure against the side of her belly, "…you may be right," he said, mindlessly for the sake of the conversation as a brand new frown faintly adorned the smoothness of his forehead; and such a note clearly sounded familiar, for Juliet's eyes lifted to look into his at once before a small smile appeared across her lips and her head shook shortly; a clear attempt at telling him that she was fine, but he simply doubted it. With a single encouragement from Juliet to talk to Peter, Edmund reluctantly looked to his brother again and asked: "Have you practised your Waltz?" as his arm fell from around Juliet's shoulders to sneak onto holding her hand once again.

As a soft scoff left Peter's lips, Juliet managed to squeeze her husband's hand in soft encouragement against the soft pain she felt, "I refuse to answer that question, Ed." The High King admitted; the smile evepresent on his lips as a heavy breath left his evidently nervously smiling lips, "Do forgive my lack of response, but I fear that with any answer I give I am sure to make a fool of myself if I happen to misplace my steps." Only then did his eyes fall to his brother and his Queen once again, finally noting Juliet's discomfort as he attempted to turn to head in the direction Athena had gone; but the worry over his sister-in-law was enough to finally bring a little frown to his expression, "Juliet, are you okay?"

Edmund only seemed glad he didn't have to pretend he wasn't worried anymore, only slightly annoyed when Juliet released a gentle laugh as she forced her posture to straighten, "Aye, all is well." She said, enough to make the youngest King's jaw clench regardless of how he refused to let her go, "'Tis naught but the babe finding his place in there, I know it. Pray, go dance with thy wife, she awaits thee, all will be well." And though such words were less than enough for Edmund, Peter's eyes searched for his confirmation and comfort.

It was a comfort he wouldn't have given if he could say anything about it, but the look in Juliet's eyes begged him to stand by her side; a look that could easily maim was enough to make any King follow upon her wishes, "Yes, go." Edmund told his brother at last, forcing a lift onto his lips as he looked in the direction of the new High Queen, seeming perfectly at home with her crown and her title (though he knew better) before looking at Peter again, "Though you should let her lead, Pete," he joked, motioning in Athena's direction with his head, "Whether or not you have practiced, I would rather put my trust in her than you when it comes to the finer arts."

Of course, the High King scoffed at his brother quite easily as a roll of his eyes finally satiated his mind enough for him to turn around in the direction Athena stood waiting; it didn't really take long before the circle of the guests and workers surrounded Peter and Athena as they bowed and curtsied onto one another for the first dance, but it also didn't take long for Edmund to turn to his wife with the worry no longer masked by the smile on his lips, "What is it?" He wondered in a soft whisper as he walked by his wife's side, ready to inquire onto the baby's health when Juliet's other hand moved away from her stomach and clasped his gently.

"Naught but what I have told thy brother," she even pulled him to stand upon the first layer of the circle as she attempted to reassure him; she was walking with the ease of any day, and for it she said, "See? It's all gone now, I'm well." And as the silence reined the hall in place of the chatter and excitement expectant of the royal couple's first dance, Edmund Pevensie had eyes for none other than his wife; his smiling, beautiful, stubborn, heavily pregnant wife, who should be laying in for confinement for the sake of the baby instead of walking about and even willing to dance by the time the Narnian Waltz had gone on for long enough that other couples had begun joining Athena and Peter at the centre of the room.

Indeed, he was unable to argue against her wishes to dance, thankful for the gentleness of the song as they moved and swayed along the melody with enough ease that at least for a while he was able to relax slightly; if Juliet truly were in pain and hiding it, there was absolutely no way she would be willing to dance. And thus with that thought, he went on, but not without making his own worries clear, "I don't agree with your dancing, you know that, right?" He wondered with a small smile upon his lips, because there was nothing that could make him smile more easily than the stubbornness of his beloved wife. "You shouldn't even have taken part of the celebrations, you should be—"

Oh, but that smile only known to Juliet Capulet so easily came onto her lips to accompany the little laugh that left her, "Aye, aye, I know where thou think'st I should be, but I am not, I am here, by thy side, dancing the Narnian Waltz while thy brother and his new wife kiss as they should to celebrate their union; canst thou love this moment as much as I? Please?" She wondered, motioning in the direction of the newlyweds who had almost entirely stopped moving for that beautiful kiss they shared, one both of them parted smiling from; "We are fine," Juliet told her husband, bringing his attention back to her and the baby hidden under the flesh of the belly she so adoringly moved to rest his hand on, so he could feel how perfectly fine the baby was as well as they danced the last notes of the familiar Waltz. Whether it was the happiness of his wife, the feeling of the livelihood of their child inside her, or the mere joy presented shamelessly by his brother and his new wife, Edmund simply agreed with a soft nod; and it was thus that they danced, even when the music became livelier and their steps had to match, even when Peter himself looked in his direction and all joy was shared alike, even as the songs continued and the promise of the feast that night approached faster and faster.

As time passed, the party was enjoyed by all, with eyes only for the ones being celebrated in such a way that when the true worry came onto the young King's mind at almost the hour of the feast when his wife stopped mid-dance to stand hunched in pain, not one person noticed for the tranquillity of Juliet's countenance and the gentle whispers with which he spoke, drowned entirely by the musical notes that kept all guests, friends, and workers otherwise occupied as they passed and stood outside of the party of dancers, "Juliet, this isn't fine," He told her at last as they went, "Truly, you're nearly breaking my fingers, this can't be just—"

"I need to sit down," Juliet interrupted, looking at him with a sort of worry shining in the amber of her eyes that had not appeared there before; one that scared him enough to refuse to argue against it and therefore encouraged him to lead his wife discretely towards the nearest chair with no one other than one of the female workers, which he called with a single gaze, to either accompany them or know that there was more going on in the hall than the celebration of the newly married High King and Queen.

With some effort, Juliet sat, yes, but she did not last there long, for Edmund almost slipped on a little pool of water that seemed to come from under the folds of Juliet's dress and therefore had her standing at once, "Oh," she said, holding onto her husband for the sake of his balance as much as her own shock as the simple truth slipped into her mind: how many times had she seen the action in other women, wondered what it would have felt like, claimed she would be able to have control of such a moment, and yet… "Edmund…" she began, fear slipping through the single word as her hand tightened its hold on the young King's, but her head shook, the knot was fully swallowed away from the middle of her throat, and she finally said, "C-c… Caliathne, call the physician, I beg thee, bid her come to the western wing at once."

The female fawn curtsied at once, "Yes, your majesty," And left as swiftly as she had joined her and Edmund before.

But it was the king who didn't entirely understand what was going on, and thus, as he attempted to step away from the little pool of liquid—which he so easily thought to have been spilt wine—he looked in alarm at his wife as he tried to encourage her to sit as she had said she had needed to, "Juliet, what's wrong?" He wondered, "Why won't you sit, why do you need the physician, what's—"

"Oh, mine heart, thou must prepare," She told him with the fear of the gods in her eyes, her hand trembling in his, and a deep pain finally doubling her over at once regardless of the silence she forced herself to keep.

That was when Edmund understood, and his heart suddenly felt as if it were about to explode in as much joy as the very fear of what the next few hours could mean for Juliet, "I—I must… I need to tell Peter, and Susan, and—"

"No!" The young protector easily exclaimed, holding onto Edmund's hand with even more strength than before and forcing herself to stand as straight as the pain would allow her, "Speak not a word to them, I beg, for this be their day, not mine, and I refuse to steal it from them because our child refused to wait one more day," Even her voice came strongly if broken at some parts, but her strength was one Edmund Pevensie would be proud of regardless of the fear that otherwise made a mess of his own heart, "Thou hath warned me not to dance, but I have, thus say no more, and pray all is well, blame me if thou must, speak to me, but do no more, I beseech thee and take me to our room, for it is time." It was time, oh, it was time, a couple of days earlier than the physician had expected, all because of Juliet's stubbornness to celebrate the day as deeply as if she were not with child, but it was time indeed.

The first prince or princess of Narnia was about to be born.


	52. Chapter 52

─ ♚ ─

The celebrations had come to a natural end, a whole day had passed, and still the echoes of the young Queen's labour echoed through the Western Wing of Cair Paravel; the worst part of it all was that Edmund Pevensie had not been allowed inside Juliet's private bedroom at all; there they were, the curses of his wife's native tongue, the loud torture she had to endure, and still the physician had apologised endlessly before slamming the oak door in his face, "This is no place for you, my king." And still the Just boy had pounded on the door as the very truth that held him there: that every single thing important to him in that world at that moment rested at the other side of the door, a door that could let him into the horror of Juliet's torture once in a while whenever Susan had to slip away from the room to fetch more water or blankets. He saw sweat on Juliet's forehead, blood on blankets that left the room, and the echoes of her screams seemed louder than ever before, proving the thickness of the walls for the millionth time; by the fourth time the door opened he forbid himself from looking in at all.

But still, no matter how much he tried, no one would let him inside the room, "I'M THE KING, GODDAMN IT, THAT'S MY WIFE IN THERE!" and no more than the flinching of the guards by the sides of the room came as response. Even when Peter arrived, trying to talk some sense into him with words of the rules or claims that his yelling couldn't possibly help Juliet, Edmund only responded with the same fire as before, "WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF IT WERE ATHENA IN THERE?"

"I would go to my chambers and wait for word of the birth, like it's required of me," The High King responded with a calculating gaze, reaching for his brother's arm as if that alone could bring calm into the other's disposition, but all he achieved was for his brother to pull his arm free harshly, for which Peter had to sigh, "We're Kings, Edmund; births here are not the same as what they are in that other place." Not that he would know about births anywhere, but it felt like the only thing he could say to bring some sense into his brother's head; it didn't exactly relax him, but at least it made him remain silent as he paced back and forth upon the small landing outside the bedroom; thinking about how swiftly he would want to change the rules for any future pregnancies, if there came to be any more.

Time continued to pass, with the disappearance of the sun in the horizon, or the retirement of his brother by his side; even the guards had changed for the sake of the others' time for sleep; and by four in the morning of that Friday, only Edmund was left waiting in a sitting position against the locked door with his head on his hands, his heart beating too wildly, and his eyes remaining closed with hopes that more could be heard then. He'd even grown almost used to Juliet's screams of agony regardless of the torture it brought him, or more so her tears as the night and day grew longer and longer than any a night had seemed before, because there was absolutely nothing else he could have done other than sit there and wait; he knew it, regardless of his fiery furnace of rage, because he had tried the latch soon after the first guards had left, and though another banging came against the door to accompany his exclamation of "OPEN THIS DOOR AT ONCE,"  _just open it so I can hold her hand, let her break it if she wants to, just let me in! N_ othing but the matching agonising shouts of his wife replied as she demanded them to let him in.

Whether it was her own shouts of command that continued long after he had sat down, or the women's patience running low, finally the door did open; yet instead of letting him in, it was Gentle Queen Susan in a bloodied apron and a messy head of hair that came out with the reprimanding expression wrinkling every one of her features, "You need to stop this, Edmund," she claimed, cleaning her hands on her apron and looking as her brother stood from the ground and even threaded a hand through his dark brown locks, "This worrying, the yelling, it's making it worse for her; she's already bleeding too much, and if you don't stop now the stress of all of it can end up being life threatening, and I'm sure you don't want her to die even if she  _can_ come back to life." Almost on cue, another heart-shattering scream accompanied with sobs came from behind Susan, and though Edmund looked in that direction, the fear of what his sister had told him made any words get stuck in the middle of his throat and his actions become trapped in the frozen frame that remained like a statue at the foot of the landing as his sister reached for the doorknob once again, stared at him with the conviction of what she had spoken and disappeared behind the oak at once.

Waiting… he had no other option than waiting; after all, what possible use could he be inside the room? Nothing but a nuisance wishing to help Juliet with a hold of her hand, but an obstacle for those who knew what they were doing; what if he had achieved to go inside and only managed to make things worse? It wasn't as if the chamber hadn't been prepared for the delivery of the child for weeks before, with new sheets, towels, and any necessary thing meant for the Queen's confinement regardless of how she absolutely refused to have one; yes, she was safe with them, she was going to be okay, she had to be. No event after the High King's wedding had been more expected by the realm than the birth of the first prince or princess of Narnia, and for Edmund himself even Christmas seemed dull with the promise of a child, thus by the logic of such a tired mind it seemed that she had to simply be okay, regardless of the obviously very difficult delivery… she  _had_  to be okay.

Inside the room, Susan hurried to return to the Juliet's side, reaching for a wet cloth to rest against the girl's forehead swiftly enough to help against the sweat that otherwise saturated her face and dampened her messy hair, "He's waiting, Juliet," the Gentle Queen attempted as the protector fell exhausted against the pillows again, allowing Susan to press her against them for the sake of her own heart as she continued to remove the sweat from her brow, "Please, just relax, he won't try coming in again."

And, sure, perhaps the Gentle Queen thought such words would help the labouring girl, but the truth was that all it did was make it worse; for there was not one fact Juliet hated more than her husband's absence and every woman in the room had to know it over the many times she had yelled about it, regardless of how little time (or energy) she had for anything other than pushing, crying and breathing. She  _had_  pushed, though, exactly as they told her to, she had breathed, and she had broken into sweat, frustration and pain all throughout the long time that had already passed; she didn't even think to wonder how long it had been, she only cried thinking she couldn't do it,  _saying_  she couldn't do it regardless of the many words of encouragement so given to her by the physician, the nurses, and Queen Susan herself, who looked over her well being alike she would do any other sick in the infirmary. It wasn't even entirely the hardship she continued to push through, but Edmund's absence that made her wish to think of nothing but forcing the child out at once; not even so for the rather romantic thoughts that had broken within her mind moments before the worst had begun, but so that she could have cursed him endlessly for the pain she was living through; not that the profanities in her known tongue had not escaped her lips regardless—unknowing that they could be heard well through the closed door for the volume with which she spoke them—between surges of pain which slowly ripped through her hips and back or her body forcing herself to tense, push, and wish for it all to be over.

At first they were profanities meant (and to all unknowingly) toward Edmund himself for the truth she suffered so eternally to bring the little life into the world, but they were words that soon thereafter shifted to be meant towards the physician, and even her own sister-in-law for not allowing her husband into the room, for not being able to help her in her pain, and above all for not having some magical way to make her body get on with it already, to just get. him. out. after all the time that had passed and specially as the early light of the morning began to rise through the cracks of the wooden boards for the third time since her labour had begun,  _Pray thee, God, how much more pain canst I endure?_ It made of her first child's birth one that had the young Italian wishing for a lack of consciousness more than once.

And then, just like that, it was over.

There was exhaustion, yes, a need to allow her eyes to shut regardless of the happy sound that came with the loss of a pain so instantly gone the second the child left her body entirely, but above all there was  _relief_  as a brand new ease to breathe came upon her; no longer were her hips ripped into, no longer did her back feel like breaking, no longer did her tiny body feel as if it were being pulled apart, no longer did she feel as if she were about to die right then and there over the arduous amount of pain that drowned her wholly, finally she was just free of it all, and a soft cry announced that she was, in fact, a mother. Her throat was raw from all the pushing and occasional screaming, her muscles ached, her heart felt seconds away from stopping, her stomach hurt, and everything from her waist down felt numb, but she was a mother; and there she had always thought birth to be beautiful, to be no more than a gift she had missed out on but had miraculously been allowed thereafter in such a way that she'd feel thankful for it, and perhaps even would be looking forward to experience again, yet…

Well, never before had she admired her own mother so much.

It was the deafening silence that gave the young protector relief which nearly scared Edmund as it surrounded him at the other side of the door, for the lack of Juliet's screams made his head lift from his hands and his heart nearly stop for the continued quiet; but it was the soft recognisable crying that came soon after that restarted his heart at once and therefore made him rise from the ground outside the bedroom, almost reaching for the latch himself but frozen for the very fear of what his imagination had made of Juliet's state after the near three days that it had taken for their child to be born. Before he could actually fight against his own fears to move to open the door, though, the latch lifted and Susan Pevensie—smiling, tired, apron bloodied, and tied hair in a much messier way than it normally would have been—walked out, "Do you want to meet your son?" she asked, radiant with the smile she showed him even as she moved to detach herself off the bloodied piece of clothing at once.

And though the birds had begun singing outside, and the welcome light of the sun shone behind him, nothing other than the words she had said seemed to hold any meaning to him upon that day, "A s—a son?" Even the word felt foreign on his lips, for some days he still felt like a child himself regardless of the title the world held to his name; he was only days away from turning twenty years old and still he already was a father, he already had a…  _wait,_ "Juliet, how—is she…?" How could he be expected to care then about the life of a child who so very obviously screamed with readiness at the world when he didn't even know about  _her_?

But Susan seemed relaxed, and as she balled the apron on one of her hands she finally stepped aside, doing what she had simply not allowed him to do what felt to him like in weeks: offering him to go in, "She's perfectly fine; come on in, before she falls asleep, the delivery was hard for her."

"Edmund," came the soft broken voice of his wife, allowing him to so easily breathe once again; and thus he stepped into a room he barely recognised by anything other than the bed, and the exhausted beautiful girl resting upon the pearl-like sheets that so easily looked to him as if he were the last person in this world. It was as if time in Narnia had suddenly stopped, with all the scattered flannels, the blood on sheets nurses took away, the child he barely looked at, a gentle breeze coming in through the cracks of the wooden boards and the light of the day aiding the many candles in giving the room light, bouncing of the wood and hung tapestries as it made every corner void of any shadows that might try to steal his mind; no noise came other than the crying of the boy, and his name so softly being called by Juliet once more, alive, healthy, who he so automatically moved to sit beside while his hands immediately reached to touch her bare arms or brush the sweaty locks away from her forehead, reminding her that the long days were over, reminding her that never again would he be so horribly held away from her, reminding her that a new day had dawned, a new chapter had begun.

But just as quickly as time had seemed to stop it swiftly seemed to begin moving again, when the cry of their child came and shook them both so strongly that their gazes parted in search of the little bundle who could claim such a sound, "Edmund, where is he?" Juliet wondered with a voice so rough and broken that the King himself thought he could feel her exhaustion as if it were his own; of course, he could not, for she was so absolutely defeated and tender from the delivery itself that even his own touches felt like the trickling of a feather upon her skin, so sensitive that, even as she attempted to reach for him, her movements felt like a high effort placed against her already exhausted muscles, and though the amber of her eyes moved about the slowly emptying room as if that search alone could end on the announced boy to be placed into her arms, her head felt too big for her body and therefore shortly after collapsed upon the pillows once again. But the truth was, regardless of that exhaustion, since her husband had arrived—allowing the light ghost of a tired smile to appear upon her lips—the pain was completely gone, and the only echo within or near the room was the cry of her child, there was only one thing she could think of as she held onto her husband's arm; and at the lack of an answer from the brown eyed boy, or a sight of the infant she had borne, she had to ask again, a little louder, "Where is my son?" And thus her tired eyes returned to look into Edmund's wondrous ones once again, only this time they were pleading with him.

It was not him who answered though—with the fearful heart, or the mixed relief written upon his features as he tried getting used to the burning touch of Juliet's skin or the loud crying of the baby boy he had seen no more of than a short mindless glance—but the other Queen in the room, who had read all the diaries, journals and documents about the births of royals in Narnia's past, "You don't need to worry about him now, either of you," she said, smiling in such a way that made her title of Gentle seem specially accurate as she placed a hand on her brother's shoulder, but even such softness could not scare away the frown in the new mother's brow, "Alike custom demanded, since Edmund has seen him, I have—"

"But I didn't see him," Edmund interrupted at once, finally speaking after the shock of the whole situation and turning to look at his sister with a small frown to match his wife's, "I—I mean, not really, I… I barely glanced at him, I… well, I—"  _I was too scared, too worried, I wasn't ready, and Juliet…_ he simply couldn't say any of that.

And thus the silence encouraged the older Queen to speak again, "Well, I thought you had, so as custom said, I had the child be taken away at once, to his nursery, where he will be fed and taken care of by the staff and the head Nursemaid until—"

"You sent my son away from me?!" Juliet began, barely strong enough, yet using the anger in her heart to try sitting up on the bed.

But Edmund was well ahead of her regardless of that terrified mind of his, for he spoke almost at the same time Juliet's weak outburst had come, "Susan, that rule was made by a heartbroken husband at the death of his wife," Even his voice sounded much stronger than he actually felt, more secure, "I would have thought  _you_ of all people would agree to break that rule for good, for—"

"It was done by all the Kings and Queens even  _after_ Queen Helen the fourth, I didn't think it was for us to change a tradition of centuries when—"

"But we already  _have_ broken a lot of the traditions!" Exclaimed Edmund as the fire of his own rage finally drowned the very terror brought forth by even the mere idea of holding his son, "Peter and I have married for love instead of alliance, Juliet and I sleep on the same bed, you take care of all the wounded and sick unlike  _any_ Queen has ever done before, so tell that Nursemaid to bring my son to us at  _once_  because his  _mother_ wants to hold him, as she should!"

To his and Juliet's surprise, Susan's head shook at once, "I'm sorry, Ed, I won't." Even her arms lifted to cross under her chest as she took a step back, "It's  _because_ of all the traditions we already have broken that I refuse to break this one too; we  _are_ Kings and Queens, yes, but what right do we have to—"

"He's  _our son_! We have  _every_ bloody right; so go get him or I will!" The King claimed without a single lower of his voice, standing from the bed at once to do what his sister so easily seemed to refuse to, only letting go of Juliet's hand for the sake of it; it all felt only worse when the tall Pevensie girl stood in front of him, almost eye to eye, to stop him from going any further. "Move away, Su, this is ridiculous." He told her, taking a step to the side, ready to walk past her until Susan stepped in front of him again, "How can you keep a child away from his parents like this?!"

"Enough traditions have been set aside during our reign, Edmund, it's not fair to the people who have been here longer than us to change everyth—"

"BUT KEEPING OUR SON AWAY FROM US  _IS_ FAIR?" The young King demanded, and suddenly even the child's faint cries sounded like a protest against the situation to everyone's ears.

"That's not what I'm saying,"

"Then what  _are_ you saying? You must see how wrong this is!"

"It's  _tradition,_ it's what's been done for—"

"Tradition created by grief that no one else should have followed! Do you hear what you're saying, sister?! The flawed logic you are using to keep a mother from holding the child she just spent nearly  _three days_ bringing into this world? How could you possibly—" And though Susan herself attempted to make her words heard against the King's exclamations, both of their arguments died out when a rather loud crash echoed around the room from the side opposite to where they stood by the bed; immediately Edmund's eyes fell to the place where Juliet had rested, only to have his heart fall all the way to his stomach when he saw the ruffled bareness of the bed. It was for all of a couple of seconds as if she had disappeared from the world the way his entire body reacted to the emptiness of the white sheets, with the feeling returning to the tips of his fingers like a tingling mess when he could see the young protector leaning against one of the bed posts, sweaty, pale, and with the lower front of her nightgown bloody, making her look like some vengeful angel or ghost come to destroy the world for wronging her; no sooner did his shock pass that Edmund Pevensie closed the distance between him and his wife so his arms could support her without even caring for the source of the broken glass behind her, "Juliet, what are you doing? You need to rest, I will—"

"I do not wish to rest," the girl said; a lie, of course, for her body could barely hold itself up; even her arms trembled within their weakness as she let go of the post to let Edmund hold her upright, "I wish to hold Arthur, and if naught a person will help thus, then I shall crawl to him myself, and let a trail of blood and water be the last proof of our time apart, for I am his mother, and naught but I shall tend to him." She said; even her voice broke through the exhaustion that roughened her notes to accompany the very droplets falling freely against her cheeks, which spoke as much as her words of the truth she faced: "I told thee true, all of you, I ne'er wished to be Queen, and here finally stands my line; take the title at once, for I do not want it, not if it doth mean what thou speakest. I have thus dreamt of being a mother, therefore curse mine crown, take it, drown it, burn it if thou wilt, call me naught but a Lady if it shall stop me from being a mother to my child.

But if thou wilt not," the protector said, her hands holding onto her husband with all the strength her limbs had left, "If thy words upon my coronation day hold true and thou thinketh me a Queen as much as thee, then I shall find a light against this curse and demand my child to be brought to me as is my right; may Aslan stand before me himself and take him from my arms if it be wrong." And that was that, spoken through tired lips and weakened limbs, but spoken true and with every speck of conviction Juliet Capulet had always held for those things she thought and believed in, and all why? Because finally the first Narnian rule she could not follow became clear and deadly before her. Had the Gentle Queen not spoken about such a ridiculous rule during the many previous months because she'd known how both she and Edmund would react to it, or had the celebration of Peter's wedding simply put everything else away from her and everyone else's minds at all?

Whatever the reason, she was glad she had married such a like-minded person the moment Edmund's hold on her tightened and the expression on his face hardened towards Susan once he looked away from Juliet, "Is this what you wanted?" He wondered, eyes searching for the only answer he wished to have in the blue of the older Queen's eyes, "You and I both know nothing can shake Juliet once she's got her mind set on something, and I happen to agree with this, too. So you either have our son brought back to us, or I will carry Juliet to the nursery myself, putting this ridiculous situation to an end at once," He paused, stern on his speech as much as his gaze, as his heart beat wildly within his chest, "So what will it be, sister?"

The question floated around them in a sort of tension that lasted much less time than even they thought, with nothing but the prince's short crying marking the seconds until the will of fire of Susan Pevensie finally broke and her head shook defeated in the end, "Just help her back on the bed, will you? She needs to rest, the delivery  _was_ very difficult, and any hardship should be avoided at all costs;  _I'll_ bring your son to you, but you'll be the one explaining to the nobles why it is that, once again, we're stomping all over old Narnian traditions when we see them later today." And without even waiting for a response, Susan picked up the last basket of bloodied sheets and left the room at once, barely even managing to leave the door she left through ajar.

Almost immediately Juliet's every limb gave out, and Edmund swiftly moved to catch her in his arms regardless of how that frown his sister had brought upon him refused to disappear, "If we ever have more children," he began, stepping on broken glass and water to be able to set Juliet on the bed once again, "I promise you these two stupid rules that kept me apart from you and our son from us will have been erased and trashed to the deepest parts of the river of Beruna, I don't care who I have to behead to do it." Of course it was the anger talking, the desperation of seeing Juliet being strong again and the terror of being a father that left him so absolutely bareminded to say those words, but at least it brought a small smile to the new mother's lips as she let her head so easily fall against the pillows once again; and then, only then, did the pride over the strength with which Juliet had fought even moments after giving birth finally filled every corner of the King's heart with enough strength that a recount of every one of her words ran through his mind like a radio, making him finally note the one thing his anger had blinded him to the moment it had left his wife's lips. Therefore, as he re-placed the covers to give Juliet warmth, he asked: "Maybe it was the anger getting to me, but… did I hear you call our son Arthur?"

The ease and tiredness of Juliet's smile was the only thing to answer him at first, but then came a soft nod to her head as a breath left slowly parting lips, "T'was not thine anger, aye, I did call him that," at least both of them held a smile again when Edmund sat by her side, and their hands refused to part as the now familiar crying of their child echoed closer once again, "Arthur, as the hero and King thou doth love so dearly, and Luca, as mine brother wouldst have been called if he had survived his birth."

The hold Edmund had on Juliet's hand tightened softly, and a brand new smile found the ease of its appearance upon his full lips at once, "Arthur Luca Pevensie," The king said softly as the pad of his thumb softly graced against the back of Juliet's hand, "Prince of Narnia, Lord of Western Wood, and heir to the Just crown," he nodded, finally allowed to face the joy that had been brought like a gift onto him that day, and only managing to feel a knot building like a noose of worry around his throat; but still, he said, "I like it," as the door behind him creaked open and the gentle echoes of the boy's cries filled the room once more.

Juliet's eyes almost immediately fell to the image behind him; a smiling Susan holding onto her little nephew with all the delicacy of the world; but slowly, like a separating blood-soaked bandage from healed skin, Edmund's own head turned. He was terrified, his fingers fidgeting and his heart pounding as the cries of new life pierced through him alongside the promise of what it meant: him, a father, regardless of all the horror he had done, the torture he had survived, the nightmares he had fought… he was a father. And how? How was he supposed to be a good one when his own treachery and horror was barely ten years old? What if he failed? What if he was such a terrible father that the child so mindlessly crying in Susan's arms became a traitor himself? God, his feet wanted to help him get off of the bed and run regardless of the heavy means with which he had fought to even be able to sit so near his son, but instead, for the gentle hold of Juliet's hand in his, he stood to move in Susan's direction instead, seeing the innocence carried in her arms as an opportunity given to him to prove to himself and his wife that he was indeed no longer the treacherous boy who had been crowned within that palace ten years before, "Here, I'll…" he began, his feet clambering on top of broken glass and forgotten water as his arms stretched in the direction of the bundle of swaddling clothes being carried into the room, "I'll take him."

And he did; with no more than a well heard note to hold his head carefully, Edmund Pevensie held his son against his chest and truly looked at him at last as the gentle cries slowly died out. Big clear eyes looked back at him, little pink fists resting against the fabric of his shirt and the top of his hand, and a small trickle of hair adorned the baby's head, "He's so small." He barely whispered, but everything else simply seemed to make sense at once.

"He's healthy," Susan said in a soft tone regardless of the quick way in which her arms crossed under her chest, "but he will need to be taken away to be fed soon if we want to keep him that way, and—"

"That will be all, Su," Edmund said, almost instinctively pulling Arthur closer against him and away from his sister's possible grasp at the mention of him being taken away again; even his feet led him backwards one step just in case, and his eyes, so suddenly scared and equally angry, lifted to look in her direction again. "Please,"

Clearly she had been about to say something else, but the single word and his gaze had to have been much too heavy to argue against, because the defeat returned to her features alongside a heavy sigh as her arms fell and her head simply bobbed in a short nod, "If you need anything, just tell one of the guards to come get me, and I'll be here in a heartbeat." It was all she said before she finally left, disapprovingly, away from the room and the brand new family that rested within it.

This time the door did fully close, and it wasn't until the latch clicked that Edmund's eyes fell to his child once again; he had fallen asleep, just like that, and for it he walked slowly to the side opposite the one he had sat on before for the sake of avoiding the broken glass. There, he finally felt his lips pressing into a thin line as he attempted delicately to lean forward to pass the sleeping prince over to his Queen, whose tired arms reached strongly for him regardless of the weakness of everything else she did, "You got him?" the King wondered, his eyes trailing after the little bundle of life as Juliet nodded and pulled Arthur against her chest softly and with every single speck of love no one would have been surprised to see in her amber eyes; even the corners of Edmund's browns had begun to well tears he even felt surprised to feel and quickly after whipped away with the corner of a sleeve, "Our Prince Arthur." His and Juliet's alone, indeed; and a stifled laugh escaped from smiling lips as he rushed to press a kiss against his wife's forehead, sitting by her side once again soon after while the echoes of his brand new truth settled upon the familiarity of his heart: he was a father, they had a healthy baby, and Juliet was alive as well; he simply was the luckiest man in the whole world.

He wasn't the only one to think the same, of course, but Juliet also thought of the kind of love she felt for Edmund Pevensie upon that moment; for, if it weren't for him and the stubborn like-mindedness of his own heart then she simply would not be holding her son in her arms at all. It would have been thus: that Arthur would have been taken away, and the rules so barbarically written onto a mother who could never care for her own child would have been followed to the dot, and thus the young protector would have become her own mother, only there for her son during parties, dinners, speeches onto marriage for equally benefiting means, but never there to care for him, hold him when he was scared, teach him while he was young… Juliet Capulet simply would have become exactly that who she had forever sworn she would never be.

Instead, there she was, holding the delicacy of her child in her arms with the great love she held for her husband and the hope he thereafter allowed onto her heart: the possibility of being a real mother, just like she had forever wished she could have been. Even one of her hands rose one of the boy's little fists to press against her lips as the singularity of a tear tricked down her cheeks and a promise escaped through a whisper settled on his soft pink skin: "I will love thee like a mother should, I will feed thee from mine own breast, I will care for thee, I will be e'er by thy side if thou wilt it, and if thou thus wisheth to cry, I shall be there too. Naught but I, or thy Father, for thou shalt ne'er love a nurse better than us, I vow thus by this kiss, which thou shalt take forever as the proof of my devotion," she kissed his little fist once again, sniffing away the aftermath of her silent tears as she said in the end: "I am thy mother, Juliet Capulet Pevensie, Queen of Narnia, and if I must use mine crown to demand the right to love thee, Arthur, I will." She vowed at last, "I will."

Yes, she had never wanted or expected to be a Queen, but where only moments before she had been ready to think of her crown as a curse, the determination of her loving hold onto her son made it seem as much a gift as his own existence was; even more so for the touch she shortly after felt upon her shoulder or the second loving kiss against her temple from the man she loved, making of her picture the perfect dream she had forever had: she had life, love, a son; what else could she possibly want except… "No wet nurses," Edmund agreed like a melody to the Italian's heart as she gulped back the mere knot of fear that formed at the thought of what would have happened if he had not agreed, "No nannies unless absolutely necessary," even her eyes lifted from the sleeping child to look into the eyes of the one person who held the rest of her loving heart, for a brand new claimant had come into the world demanding some of it that day. "We will raise him ourselves," her never-ending love grew further onto her husband and King, and any fear she might have had died as quickly as any other doubts, "And be damned anyone who tries to stand in our way."

Three days later, at the foot of the great balcony in the Western Wing, all the people of Narnia were looking upon the very first public royal child's presentation given to all in millennia; in fact, since the death of Queen Helen IV.


	53. Chapter 53

─ ♚ ─

It had all caused a great uproar within the royals of the castle, but the Just King and Queen had gone against everything anyone tried to throw at them and managed to have their newborn son, Arthur Luca Pevensie, sleeping by their side and being taken care of only by them; though the main source of disagreement came from Queen Susan, who continued on and on to exclaim how many traditions had already been unfairly stepped on and the people of Narnia deserved better than to have their royals be the source of destruction of all possible tradition in their world. "I think you're exaggerating," Edmund had said whilst holding his sleeping son; after all, the birth had been much too arduous on Juliet, and other than to feed Arthur and hold him once in a while, she didn't have much energy for much else, even after a week since the child had been born. "We're not destroying traditions; we're just making them less… I dunno, inhuman?" Even Lucy and Peter had been unable to argue against that. "Besides, we haven't done away with _all_  traditions." He told her whilst doing what he had seen mothers do as they bounced their children to sleep. "Or do you forget the intense ceremonies Peter and I had to go through to get married, or how we basically forced a crown on Athena and Juliet?"

"Oh, you would do away with those traditions, too, then?!" Susan exclaimed, much to the dislike of Edmund, who would definitely have had a few harsh words for her if she woke Arthur from his sleep.

"No, I wouldn't," He replied, fixing the baby's blanket over his ears for the sake of keeping him asleep, "You're missing the point, Su. The point is that we're only changing those traditions that make absolutely no sense,"

"Or are perhaps outdated," Peter agreed, regardless of the little frown that had taken over his forehead; he hadn't entirely agreed with Edmund being kept away from Juliet's side during her delivery, but he had said nothing about it (and even lied about what he would have done if it had been Athena at the other side of the door) for the sake of trying to keep a united front within the castle.

Obviously it had failed.

"Well, I, for one, don't agree." Susan continued, getting up from the table and getting ready to walk out the door, but Lucy had been ready for such a thing, for she got up even quicker and ran with her long hair flowing behind her to stand in front of the door. "Move away, Lucy."

But the youngest Queen had simply refused, "Not until we all agree to not show any disagreement outside of these doors," She said, her arms spread wide to block her older sister's way, "I mean, come on, Susan, just look at him," She motioned with a flickering gaze to their brother, who had continued bouncing Arthur for the sake of his continued sleep. "How can we be arguing against him doing that, or Juliet being Arthur's mother when we, all four of us, are clear proof that a loving mother is important to a happy childhood?"

Susan had been unable to do more than cross her arms before a single scoff left her lips, "Happy childhood?" She wondered, her head shaking, "Do you forget how Edmund was before we came here, Lu? He wasn't what I would call a happy kid."

Edmund stopped moving, and a short knot grew at the bottom of his throat so tight that even his lips had to press for a moment; but no one other than he knew how much his sister's words had hurt, for his words left his lips too quick for anyone else to even realise anything had changed in his relaxed paternal demeanour, "And you well know that it had nothing to do with our parents, or need I remind you how stubborn I actually was to not talk about what was  _really_  going on?" Even his arms seemed to tighten shortly on the hold he had on Arthur, for the unfair reminder of how little he had already felt fit to even care for him or teach him things when the time came.

"There aren't that many other children of Arthur's age here in the castle, and I'm sure Prince Corin will find the baby a playmate even at his age, so we need not worry about him as such," Peter said with a heavy breath, lowering that harsh gaze he had hoped Susan would have seen to make clear his disagreement upon bringing up Edmund's past, "Besides, Narnia is not  _wrong_  like that other place when it comes to those sorts of things, so if Arthur ends up kissing a boy at age nine no one is going to think twice about it,"

"Nor should they," Lucy said with a frown, crossing her arms under her chest regardless of how she refused to move away from the door in case Susan tried to make a run for it, "If anyone tries to bother Arthur for something so normal as a kiss, they'll have  _me_  to answer to."

"The point is," Peter continued, refusing to change subjects even for the reminder of how strange the land they had come from had been; sometimes he was even glad he remembered nothing of it other than their mother and father, "Edmund was not the result of our parents, and making him an example of an unhappy childhood is unfair, even for you, Susan."

Of course, the Gentle Queen felt bad for even bringing such a thing up, considering how quick she had been to forgive Edmund for the treachery he had done against them after arriving in Narnia, but what the rest of the Pevensies didn't know was the effect the talk she had heard within the village had had upon her; the very same which had had her refusing to break any more traditions in the first place.

It had been two people against ten during a little debate in the nearest pub—where she had gone into in disguise for the sake of a private meeting with Duke Lark of Archenland—and though the ten were perfectly ready to defend the Kings and Queens for the wonderful peace they had brought them, the two conservative dwarves had claimed everything had been so much better before all the children of Eve and Adam started changing things; easier as it ever had been to focus on the two rebels instead of the many others that defended them—and even praised some of the new traditions started by the Pevensies themselves—queen Susan had decided to make it her mission to make sure no more traditions were broken. And while a Queen who listened to her subjects was nothing if not commendable, there was absolutely no reason why her younger brother should have to suffer for it; thus, with her arms falling back to her sides, the blue eyed girl turned to look at Edmund with an apology perfectly written on her gaze, "You're right, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up," she said, ever the gentle one again, "But we  _can't_ keep stepping on the traditions of Narnia, it could create strife on the realm if we keep going how we have."

Peter looked up at that, "You think it could bring a rebellion?"

But Edmund didn't leave enough time for Susan to even think of answering, "Look, I'm not saying you're wrong about that thought, but some of the things we have changed have made this country thrive, so why don't we just compromise?" He even finally relaxed his shoulders, therefore loosened his hold on Arthur some as he attempted to hold back every single bit of doubt he ever held within himself; at least until he could be alone. "We all promise to not change any more traditions, right here, right now; but the rule about not letting a husband be there for his wife while she gives birth, or the one that would have made me and Juliet nothing but the natural parents of our child have to go. Both of them, they're not humane; even you have to see it, Su." He said, perfectly sound of mind as he attempted to sound regardless of all else that went on in his mind—the doubt, the fear, the uncertainty, "Imagine what you would have done if it had been  _your_  child someone tried to take away from you because 'it's tradition'." Regardless of the bundle in his arms, the air quotes were perfectly audible.

" _We_  were taken away from our parents," Lucy reminded, leaning against the door as she did, simply to be a little more relaxed of posture than before even in her guarding of the door, "Granted, it was for safety, I think, but still… I don't remember any of us liking it even if it did end up with us coming here."

"Exactly," Edmund said with an echo of relief in his voice; he was only glad one of them seemed to be on his side even with the small tension still unbroken in the room.

After a small silence in which both Peter and Susan seemed to think everything through, it was the High King who spoke: "Well, I agree. All those rules we have already changed stay, along with being able to be by the wife's side while she gives birth if wanted, but no more; Lu?"

The younger Queen didn't even take too much before her head began nodding, "As long as Ed and Juliet get to be true parents to Arthur, or even you with any child Athena could bring you, I agree."

Peter nodded, "Ed?"

The young King simply scoffed, holding onto his child with the very love and protection even he had been surprised to find within himself upon his birth, "Obviously, I agree."

Then Peter looked in Susan's direction, who had so clearly relaxed regardless of her still standing position by Lucy's side, "Su?" But still, everyone almost held their breaths for a little while.

Until the older Queen released a breath, lifted both of her shoulders in near defeat, and nodded her head, "Fine, I agree. Those two weren't rules I liked trying to keep alive, anyway." And finally, that was that; peace and harmony could wonderfully return into the castle's life once again.

Of course, it was easy to remember why so much had been demanded and wished for whilst Arthur was asleep and quiet, looking like the very miracle both Edmund and Juliet thought him to be; but when a loud crying ruptured their sleep in the middle of the night, not one of them fully understood why they hadn't simply agreed to let other people care for him in the first place. It was not something they would dare speak to others about, for they were thoughts that truly only lasted a couple of moments until the noise was dealt with, but when both royals rested sound asleep and the crying of their child came along to disrupt an otherwise peaceful night, a pair of annoyed groans echoed in unison to the shrieking Arthur, "I'm not getting up," Edmund said, taking the pillow his head had been resting on and placing it over his head, "It's your turn."

He was barely able to hear the annoyed groaning coming from Juliet's side of the bed, "Aye indeed, thus will I say if thou ever gift me with a child again. 'It be  _thy_ turn to bring them into the world,'"

"Aslan have mercy, no more, I beg of you." The King complained, though only his momentary annoyance truly spoke of the matter upon that time; even a hand moved to push Juliet beside him to get off the bed and deal with the quite annoying noise. "Go on, he's your kid,"

A scoff left Juliet's lips, alongside a gentle little cuss in her native tongue—those had begun to become common ever since the little prince had been born—even if she did move for the sake of stopping the sound, "As is he yours, or be that only so when 'tis convenient?" But she did pick him up, cradling the babe in her arms and trying as mindfully as she could to figure out what exactly was the matter with him; and thus all the love returned to both parents' hearts when the silence reined the room once again and no aftermath of the intrusion remained other than a tired Juliet resting on one of the couches within their room, feeding and holding Arthur lovingly in her arms.

Not one person inside the castle would manage to get them to admit how much they hated waking up so many times in the middle of the night for the next few months, but as the seasons passed and the going of the growing child got easier, newer issues began rising up that the two parents secretly disliked only for the toll it took on them; none of that, of course, was grounds enough to judge Edmund and Juliet as bad parents, for their entire attention was upon Arthur regardless of the many candid and jesting times in which discomfort having to do with the child came to be voiced between the other. On one hand, Juliet had requested the tailor to make a concoction of Italian decent, which she had seen endless women of her country donning to be able to work and keep their baby close, to wear when the time came in which she could get up and work once again; a common sight thereafter would be to see Juliet walking here and there along the castle with Arthur perfectly cradled against her chest inside the tied fabric she had ordered be made and carrying things the way she had done even weeks before the child had been born. On the other, another common thing to witness would have been a very protective Edmund carrying around his child even during meetings or sessions of the Court of Judgement, and when Arthur began to crawl, even the guards within the court knew to keep an eye perfectly peeled for any signs of the wondering prince.

An entirely brand new sense of joy came into the castle when, a few days before Arthur's first birthday, and the first anniversary of Athena and Peter's wedding, the baby boy in Juliet's arms broke a quite wild conversation in the dinner table with the simple excited echo of "Spoon," coming out of his lips; every single word in anyone else's mouths stopped dead, and the young protector, who was then known more as Queen Juliet, The Soft, than the title given her on her coronation day, could barely even swallow the mouthful of beef she had been chewing moments prior.

It was Edmund by Juliet's side who broke the silence with a soft clear of his throat and the wide eyed stare in his son's direction, "Did he just…" he began.

But no one else could say anything else until the young Arthur reached for the fork in Juliet's hand and said again, "Spoon!" making everyone notice that his attention had completely been captured by the moving fork, given the young Italian's means to move her hands while she spoke. It didn't matter that everyone had been trying to debate whether rice was eaten with a fork or a spoon moments before, making it so that the child had picked up on the word itself, but a wave of laughter and the cheering excitement of both parents (and the youngest aunt) was all that was left of that curious conversation after the dinner had long been over.

The only discontent about the growing child had come one night, many months after the prince's first word, or even first step, when Edmund had been sneaking into the kitchens in the middle of the night to try and prepare a little bit of milk for Arthur (who was slowly being introduced away from breast milk to whole foods as much as other sorts of milk), only to run into a rather judgemental Susan Pevensie as she snuck into the kitchens for (she so claimed) a midnight snack. "It has to be warm enough, Ed, you can't just give him something taken out of the cold cellars as if it were for you." A statement so given when the King had begun to pour the milk into a glass bottle long before any vapour had shown from the pot he had been warming the milk in.

"He's a baby, Susan," the tired father had stated, with bags in his eyes for as much the sudden interruption in his sleep as the other much more serious matters hidden in his mind as he continuing to pour, "he's not going to care how warm it is as long as it doesn't burn or freeze his tongue."

But the older Queen simply hadn't approved, "You really should put that back in the pot to warm, otherwise—"

"He's  _my_  kid, Susan," Edmund had tiredly been unable to stop himself from exclaiming; after all, he had never really been a morning person, and though he loved Arthur enough to give his life and even his and his siblings' crown for him, it had never gotten easier to handle his mood regardless of how many times he had been awakened by the crying of the young prince even after his first year of life had been celebrated. Therefore, even the Gentle Queen herself couldn't feel too hurt when the harshness of his words continued and echoed within the confines of the big kitchens, "So why don't you let  _me_  worry about how warm his bloody milk is and you go back to sneaking out of the castle in the middle of the night like the sneaky Queen you are while you pretend you're getting something to eat; as if anyone would believe you dressed like that." And thus he left, with a bottle of lukewarm milk and a deep frown set in the middle of his forehead for the rest of the night.

Guiltily, Susan said nothing to even try and stop him, for the truth remained on the details she had so easily been attempting to hide under the cloak resting on her shoulders: that she was wearing one of her favourite pastel pink silk gowns and beautiful heeled slippers to match instead of the nightgown and padded slippers she should have been wearing given the time of night or the activity she claimed to be doing; who had she even been trying to fool by lying to her younger brother, the most observant of the four even when tiredness and the worry carried over by the threatening invasion of the giants of Ettinsmoor so obviously lay heavy upon his mind.

Fortunately for her, even Edmund's own worries lay far away from Susan's nightly adventures on the days and months to come, when not only threatening words came from places so near as Ettinsmoor by the giants within, and offering alliances came from places so far as Tashbaan in Calormen by the hopes of Prince Rabadash who attempted to court and claim Queen Susan for a wife, but another piece of news came along that would turn the youngest King's world upside down in such a bittersweet way after everything he had lived through with Juliet and Arthur that it even left his heart tumbling like a circus contortionist for days after the news had come. It was in fact on the day the Kings and Queens planned for an expedition to Calormen to see this Prince Rabadash that the news had been given, accepted with joy by all in the castle regardless of the worry in Edmund's mind, and seriously whispered about in the depths of the Western Wing that very night, "And thou art sure thou art happy? Truly?"

"More than happy, Juliet," Edmund assured her, cradling a sleeping Arthur in one of his arms regardless of how he reached for his wife's hand with the other, "I'm ecstatic, I promise." He said, almost mirroring the same amount of excitement that had come the first time news such as the ones he had received that day had been given; almost, because now tiredness also perfectly shifted his features alike. "It doesn't mean I'm particularly excited to be unable to sleep through the night again so shortly after this little guy finally managed to do the same, but I am so happy I can barely put it into words; I love you," He lifted their held hands to press a gentle smiling kiss against the back of Juliet's, "And any children Aslan deems well to allow us."

Indeed, for the news so given that day were thus: it seemed, by a miracle still much appreciated by both Just royals, that Queen Juliet was with child once again.


	54. Chapter 54

─ ♚ ─

It wasn't easy to deal with two different difficulties at once, even when one of them became so beautifully masked with the welcoming of a Prince from far away; all plans brought up within the weeks to go to Tashbaan became halted when High King Peter himself began to have to focus more on the coming danger in Ettinsmoor than the very ambassadors who had brought the proposal of alliance and marriage to the gentle and beautiful Susan; not to mention, with Juliet's jolly news of a second pregnancy, the will of Edmund Pevensie to leave Cair Paravel had been next to none. Therefore, with a baby Narnian prince growing in the castle and a second in the way, the coming dangers, and the clear safety available within the walls of Cair Paravel, the brand new idea of a safer way to meet this Prince Rabadash of Tashbaan flourished within the heart and mind of the High King.

It was for it that the castle felt as if in an uproar for days upon days weeks after, with Queen Juliet running here and there—and a playful little Arthur either behind her or with his father—until the long awaited week came, when the tournament and celebrations prepared for the coming Prince were to be kicked off by the courteous welcoming of the topaz-skinned foreigner. Thus had been Peter's idea for the reputation of all of Calormen, to give the Prince the very sort of entertainment he would expect in a visit such as the one invited to, so that all four of the royals could truly behold the sort of man who proposed to become King of Narnia by marriage to the most gentle of the Queens; and at least when it came to first impressions, none more than Susan herself was charmed by the mystery thus carried by this man of perfectly unfamiliar origin when he walked with colourful and exotic clothes into the welcoming throne room of Cair Paravel, where Peter, Athena, Susan, Lucy, Edmund, and Juliet all wonderfully stood from their thrones the way once a long time before only four of them had done to welcome King Lune to the castle, when the High Queen had been only a second general, and Juliet a lady and protector.

The bright colours of the prince's party alongside the jewels embedded strongly within his clothes and the impressive turban he wore were enough to leave most of the present nobles speechless, for none other than Mr. Tumnus—or better said, Sir. Tumnus—, who had been sent as a trusted messenger to invite the Prince to Narnia, had before seen the eccentric wealth and colour shown in every person, free or enslaved, that walked the halls of the Tisroc's palace; but it was when the upward-curved-slipper clad Prince reached the foot of the stairs leading to the thrones that the gentle whispers from everyone in the room began, for Rabadash had barely even bowed and said "Your majesties," before he began basically floating up the stairs until one of his hands had taken one of Susan's and had his lips gently pressed against it. "As the great poets of your country say," he said once he looked down at her; he was so tall there was no other way to look other than down, "' _thy beauty qualms the brightness of the moon as if the sky should shine upon none but thee'_ , you  _must_ be Queen Susan."

It was almost exactly that moment in which Edmund Pevensie made his mind up about the foreign Prince at once.

And he didn't know what he hated more; the prince, or Susan's own charming smile and soft voice as she spoke to him, "Yes… welcome, Prince Rabadash," she pulled her hand back regardless of the present reddening of her cheeks, which almost made Edmund's stomach roll. "It is an honour to have you in our home." But it wasn't even the fact that it was his sister who so easily managed to find herself charmed by the proposing prince; on the contrary, he wanted every one of his siblings to be happy in every single way, including romantically; but there was something about the way the young man moved, spoke, and even looked at Susan that just didn't…  _feel_ right.

But for whatever instinct he had, the Just King remained partly silent but fully observant for the entire duration of the week; and while he watched every single person in the castle fall for the strange charms of the foreign prince, something deep inside his heart, which seemed to almost burn a hole in the middle of it, simply made him unable to see him with anything other than polite doubt and discontent. Prince Rabadash wasn't by any means a bad looking person, with his perfect youth, the curly black hair growing under the turban he took off after the second day, that height that made almost everyone have to look up at him, or that smile that made many people at court want to fall undone at the Prince's feet; but still, there was something about him that simply did not fall well into the mind of the Just King. His servants—which he called slaves—walked with bowed heads, slouched postures, and the clear fear of anyone around them, his guards looked at every creature in the Narnian court the way Edmund himself might have once looked at a stray animal—or, if he remembered such things, how he used to look at poor people in the street before reaching Narnia—, and every single time Edmund and his siblings entered a room, any conversation with his servants or guards stopped as if something else had been said that the royals themselves might not approve of; all things of which he spoke of softly in the middle of the night to his beloved wife to get an idea of what she thought of the situation, or to see if maybe it was just his ever doubt of all those who did not live in the castle taking the better of him.

Did anyone else in the castle other then he and Juliet notice it, though? Not at all; at least no one in the almost hundred people living there other than kind-hearted Lucy, who after the second day of the great celebration approached Edmund and so plainly said "I don't like the way this Prince looks at Susan,"—And with good reason, for Edmund and Juliet had both noticed that there was a sort of strange hunger in his eyes whenever he was anywhere near close to the oldest Queen—and Duke Lark of Archenland, who after the second day of the week began to make himself wholly scarce to take care of hidden and silent princess Juno, claiming he did not at all see what everyone seemed to see in the foreign Rabadash, and in fact disliked him, as he confessed to Juliet herself.

But even that seemed to make no matter to anyone else; not even the Gentle Queen herself, who had seemed to force her goodhearted nature out on the first day of the celebration, looking guiltily around her as if there were someone in the crowd she hated to disappoint or hurt, but thereafter seemed completely charmed by the Tashbaan prince; walking around the gardens with him, laughing, blushing, and acting in ways not one of the other royals had ever seen her act towards any of the many men that had tried courting her to be their wife. In fact, it was only for the joy in Susan's eyes that not Edmund, nor Juliet ever said a word about the strange prince regardless of how little they seemed to like him, for it was not for them to like or have an opinion of when the great prince had not seemingly done anything to actually deserve their doubt other than look at Susan as if she were a piece of fruit instead of a woman (though in Edmund's eyes, that was more than enough). But so the softness of the older Queen grew with each celebratory day that passed, which was why, on the seventh and last day, while the final rounds of the tournament took place and the winner of each previous stage faced one another in combat, the soft worry in the Just King's heart grew and eventually led him to sit closer to his older sister as if mindless to simply share the appreciation of the match that had just come to an end: Queen Athena, and the Second General, Orius himself.

As the clapping for the match alongside the congratulations to the Warrior High Queen for her victory died out all around them and an apologetic playful look lifted Athena's face as Orius walked off the field with a smile for her on his own lips, the announcement for the final round of the competition trumpeted from the other side of the field, making one of the so-called slaves dressed in those incredible colourful clothes everyone had grown to love step out of a tent into the field carrying the ivory-sheathed scimitar of Prince Rabadash, who himself stepped out of the same tent and carried a dull sword in one hand, the way all those in the other six days of the tournament had—unlike Calormen, Narnians did not accept death to be the consequence of any of their tournaments so dull swords were given to all participants—and a beautiful red rose on the other; absolutely no one was surprised when the prince gallantly walked to the side of the field where Peter, Susan, Juliet and Edmund sat so he could offer the red rose to an easily smiling Susan as everyone around them (but Juliet and Edmund, of course) cooed in complete adoration whilst the pink on the beautiful Queen's cheeks rose as if it were only her and Rabadash on that field. For all his charm, Edmund, who had shifted seats with his wife with the excuse of letting her get up to deal in private with a crying Arthur in her arms, didn't like the Prince any better than the day before and thus, when the foreigner turned around to face Athena in the field, the younger king was glad to let his smile go. "You know the rules," High King Peter said, standing from his made-up wooden throne two chairs away from Susan and Edmund for the sake of keeping the empty space for his own wife while she fought in the tournament, "No direct hits to the head are allowed, nor any movement that could permanently injure your opponent; the first person to fall, be incapacitated, or lose their weapon, loses, and the one left standing in this, the last of the tournament battles, will be the sole winner of the week, in the name of our guest of honour, Prince Rabadash of Tashbaan." Of course, everyone clapped for the guest of honour as much as for the High Queen, for all had enjoyed the week-long celebration so much that even the messengers in the town had begun running the rumour that Prince Rabadash would be their next king-by-marriage, and it almost already felt like he was already part of the family save for the personal thoughts of the youngest King, which, of course, remained secret.

Therefore, as the trumpets announced the beginning of the battle and both Queen Athena and Prince Rabadash faced each other with swords upright, nothing at all seemed amiss or different when Edmund leaned closer to his clapping sister to at last speak to her without anyone else listening—Peter was much too otherwise preoccupied by watching his wife expertly fight with the foreign prince. "Say, Su. What, then, do you think of our welcomed guest?" And if the Gentle Queen hadn't been so charmed by the prince or the fight, maybe she might have been able to notice the single sarcasm on her brother's voice.

But she  _was_ perfectly charmed, and it was for it that the smile remained upon her lips regardless of the cheering notes of those around them after High Queen and General Athena made a move that nearly had made the Prince lose his sword, "Well, I think he's perfectly strange, but I think I find such strangeness quite charming, don't you?"

Obviously Edmund didn't directly reply to that, "Tomorrow, when he leaves, he might ask you plainly for your hand in marriage," he said instead, and though he had been willing to continue onto the very question that worried him more than anything else, something that shadowed the familiar blue in the older Queen's eyes became enough for his thought to derail swiftly; it was a sort of guilt as she looked to the brightness of her purple shoes, as if the happiness she showed went underserved in her mind or the reminder of the finality of it all told her that the joy she had felt for the past few days could not truly last, and therefore something alerted the King to the very possibility that perhaps there was more to Susan's joy than what he had thought all along. "Susan?"

The beautiful Queen seemed to gulp down a knot before she nodded once and plainly said: "He might, yes. But I do not know what I should reply; in fact…" she looked to him with a sort of assurance that almost surprised him for the sort of sorrow he thought he had seen in her eyes only moments before, "I think I will  _not_  reply," the cheering of people all around her interrupted her, making both royals look back in the direction of the field to note both Queen Athena and Prince Rabadash were breathing quite heavily, and the prince walked with a little limp that had not been there from the moment he'd come out of the tent; clapping, for the sake of seeming part of the celebration, Susan finished her thought, "Not until he is gone and we have had time to speak of it alone, all of us…" She nodded, her smile growing for the sake of the tournament, "…in the council."

Of course, Edmund clapped as well, and though part of his mind was perfectly focused on his very silent joy that it appeared his best friend, Athena Ashdown, was very wonderfully putting the foreign prince in his place, the rest of his thoughts stayed on the surprising unexpected answer he had gotten to the one question he had not dared ask; "A council meeting?" He wondered when the cheering shifted to edge the two in the field to continue fighting; as Athena and Rabadash's swords clashed again, the young King's attention shifted to Susan once more, "Why does the council get a say in this? It's about your future, sister, not ours."

But Susan seemed perfectly adamant to her choice, "This marriage would bring us an alliance, Ed," she said without allowing her smile to disappear, and setting both her hands gently on her lap, "I dare not choose so easily when the consequences of my choice could break the country, nor—"

"Come on, Susan," Edmund interrupted with a small frown in the middle of his forehead and a smile to make his amusement evident, "Not one of us has asked the permission of the council, not one of us even held a meeting before we proposed; at least not for anyone other than Juno, but things with her were different."

"They were meant for an alliance, indeed," Said the beautiful Queen, "as is this proposal, if it comes. Therefore, I should do this by the book," she vowed, "I will not answer until the entirety of the council agrees." And her tone made it clear that nothing else could change her mind. The entire crowd broke into cheers and applause that Edmund almost even would have thought were meant for Susan if anyone else had heard the strength in her voice, but the truth was that the cheering and clapping came for the end of the tournament, as Queen Athena reached a hand to the fallen Prince whilst a smile lit both their faces. Edmund would have clapped especially loudly if it weren't for his hopes of remaining neutral, but no one would have been able to make his smile disappear: there was a possibility that Susan wouldn't marry Rabadash at all. It was a hope that lasted for the remainder of the day when the fair opened up in the village to the name of the prince, and a great feast was given to all of Narnia as much as Cair Paravel to bid farewell to him on his trip back to Tashbaan.

The next morning all royals, nobles, servants and workers of the castle lined up along the walls of the castle's northern gate, with little baskets of fruit, or casks of wine for the departing party of Calormen, as a thanks for their visit as much as the celebrations that had been done on their name; in truth, after the little chaste kiss to Susan's cheek from the prince, as soon as he and all his people had gone, there was a light feeling within the entirety of the castle grounds which only Edmund himself found impossible to ignore; after all, what if Susan and the council decided she  _should_ marry the prince? Then he would become King of Narnia alike Edmund himself, and that lightness might never be felt again in Cair Paravel, no matter what.

Alas, he had no chance of voicing his thoughts, not even to Juliet, for no sooner had the prince and his people disappeared down the path to the beach before Queen Susan ordered all workers and servants to go back to work and all the nobles in the council to follow her inside for a meeting they all should have at once; it was the swiftness that surprised Edmund—and therefore had Juliet unwillingly  _having_ to let Arthur go play with one of the caretakers of the children that lived there—which surprised every noble and royal into a big enough silence that lasted until all fifteen members of the council had sat down on their respective seats around the beautiful round table, including those who had not shown their face for the entire week in which Prince Rabadash had been in Cair Paravel. Princess Juno sat by the side of her nephew, who had been part of the celebrations as much as all council sessions ever since his thirteenth birthday months before, and by his other side sat Duke Lark, who appeared rather gloomier than he had been since he had arrived to live in the castle; those three were the most quiet of the fifteen present after Queen Susan swiftly stated the reason she had thought it best to be quick in such a meeting, "Prince Rabadash of Tashbaan approached me this morning before his departure and proposed marriage, plainly and without the presence of his ambassador or Sir. Tumnus, claiming his affections for me burnt within his heart deeply enough that our marriage would be one of love and not convenience," many people around the table began to murmur excitedly, but it was Peter, Edmund, Lark and Athena who refused to do all else other than either look at Susan as if she had said a new war was coming, or simply not look at her at all and remain quiet. "But whether love is involved or not," Susan went on, interrupting all the murmurs, "it is an alliance, a powerful one, that will result in my marriage to the Prince; therefore I am in need of the wisdom of you all, dear family and friends in the council: should I send word to the prince that I accept… or that I regretfully decline?"

"Well, yes, of course!" Said Lord Diaedrane, a dwarf, rather hastily, accompanied by two other agreeing lords, and before anyone else could talk; Juliet almost felt that she could have kicked him under the table if he weren't so far away.

Thankfully, Peter lifted a hand to quiet the three speaking nobles even after the look he sent their way; when they did quieten, the High King's gaze, as heavy as the crown he wore, fell on his sister, "I think the thing that matters the most here is: do  _you_ love him?" He wondered; and the silence that followed was heavy enough to make a couple of those present shift on their place.

But to the relief of more than only Edmund and Juliet, Queen Susan released a heavy breath and shook her head, "Of course I do not; how could I when I've known him for no more than a week?" Even her hands fell defeated alongside her own body to finally sit on her place; almost perfectly equal to all around her. "But this alliance would bring great aid to Narnia, I know it would; and we need it with Ettinsmoor so ready to attempt a war."

To the surprise of no one, the High King shook his head, "We have other alliances that could come to our aid if it was needed,"

"Archenland would come," Duke Lark said, sullenly looking in Peter's direction with the well placed frown deepening slightly, "Pride was once his enemy, but he has learnt; his letters are much different from what they once were, and though he did not come to your royal wedding, I think—"

"He did, he just…" King Peter interrupted, suddenly looking at his wife beside him, who had pressed her lips into a tiny line and shared a gaze with him; probably to stop herself from saying exactly what the High King had been unable to keep quiet, and therefore making everyone around the table wonder over the secrecy kept over such a visit for almost two years, "He didn't stay long," Whatever his tone implied didn't entirely reassure some nobles, but still, he turned to look at Lark again, "Therefore, I assure you, my friend, you need not give proof for me to believe you are right: King Lune  _has_ changed, and thus indeed, Narnia may count on Archenland." The small and nearly immediately faded lift of the Duke's lips was the first to be even seen upon his features since the arrival of the Calormene ambassadors; but to Peter, who had many other worries within his mind to notice such a little feat, it only proved acceptance enough for his words and gaze to return to his sister at once, "It is because of it that I think the rest of the council will agree: the alliance with Calormen is purely secondary compared to the happiness of your own heart, sister," a few agreeing murmurs came then, "After all, it would not be exactly fair to say anything else when both Edmund and I have married purely for love."

"It  _would_  be ridiculous and hypocritical to try and force you into a marriage based only on advantage when  _we_  didn't even stop to look at the advantages of our marriages before we made them public in the first place," Edmund agreed, reaching for his wife's hand under the table regardless of the seriousness of the situation; after all, the advantages of marrying the oldest known Narnian legend in existence had not entirely crossed his mind until he had had to look at it from the point of view of his silver crown instead of the heart that had led him to Juliet in the first place.

If anyone could judge by the nodding of his head, clearly Peter agreed, his thoughts of his own marriage evident by the simple shift of his body in Athena's direction, done as naturally as it ever was, "It is why this decision is entirely in your hands," He continued without much of a pause, "You say you do not know the prince well enough, but you do not immediately decline alike you have done many times before; perhaps you should take more time to think."

But Susan immediately shook her head, "He has already asked…" she reminded, "It would not be fair or me to make him wait, much less the country, who celebrated his arrival alongside us and  _saw_ the attention he paid me; he  _is_ kind, but…" Her eyes fell, distress perfectly written on her features in a way none but Peter, Edmund and Lucy had ever seen before, a long time ago, before any one of them carried a crown upon their heads. "…It's all just so fast."

So why, then, did it feel like it was the aftermath of a war that drowned the Gentle Queen? "I think…" Lucy said; breaking the silence that had come over the shock in all Pevensies' minds over their sister's anguish, and therefore forcing her to put all thoughts she held of Rabadash aside at once, "…there is a way to make both the country and the prince have patience enough for you to take the time you need to think and decide."

"There is?" Susan wondered with that perfect sorrow still written on her eyes.

Lucy dared do nothing other than nod, "I think so; at least, that is, if I happened to overhear one of your conversations with the prince right." Peter had to smile, but it was the weighted gaze in Susan's eyes that made Lucy's hands lift in defeat and defence as she spoke, "You were sitting right beside me, and it's not exactly as if you were whispering."

"What did you hear?" Edmund wondered carefully.

Lucy's hands lowered, "The prince invited Susan to visit Tashbaan," she informed, "Something about… him being sad she'd never get to see it for some reason or other."

"He didn't dare think of taking me away from Narnia if we did bring the countries together, meaning he would live here," Susan told them, sitting straighter on her seat yet looking only at the beautiful top of the wooden table in front of her, "So he offered to have me in one of his palaces for a week or two so I could see his city and country… even if nothing came from out meeting other than friendship."

Lucy nodded once again, "I think you should go; take him up on his offer." She encouraged, "Not alone, of course; one of us would have to accompany you, but I think if you did go there it would show the country a sort of interest in a prospect that you've never shown before,  _and_ it would show the prince himself that you are seriously considering his offer whilst also being able to have more time to get to know him, truly."

Susan almost immediately shook her head, "I can't leave, not now; not when things with the giants in the north are so dire that they could end in war at any moment."

"They won't," Peter assured her, looking in Duke Lark's direction as much as in Orius' and Lord Frankfurt opposite him, "not with the excursion I am leading to talk things out, see if we can come to an agreement," if the giants were even capable of that, which even Peter didn't dare to count on so strongly, "If we cannot, Athena will be there to lead the armies alongside Orius, and if bad comes to worse, Lark and Sarkin will be waiting in low profile with the rest of the Narnian army; besides," the High King attempted, sitting forward to rest his arms on the table for the sake of the seriousness that otherwise befell his gaze, "if you think about it, sister, your absence from the castle might work in our favour on the case of Ettinsmoor, especially if either Ed or Lucy go with you; it might show them that we wish for peace so much that we even send two of our best fighters away on holiday without a second thought."

Clearly Susan wasn't entirely convinced, for she began to shake her head in such a way that the long ends of her hair began to dance along with the movement, "But is that wise?" She wondered, "I would love to go, but what if the giants ignore the meaning of such a gesture and decide on war regardless? You will need every possible help then."

Peter's worry became clear on the shadow on his blue eyes, "You can't mean yours, Su"

"No, I don't mean mine," The Queen agreed, frowning shortly after a simple roll of her eyes made her meaning clear enough, "I do not ever wish to fight if I can help it, I said it long ago and I say it now; but what of the ones that come with me? If it is Lucy, she has become the best archer in the country, and her skills in leading armies are equal to Athena or Edmund's; if it is Edmund, that would mean taking the best swordsman away from the country in a moment where he might be needed the most, not to mention his ability in strategy; and anyone else that comes with me, Rafkin, Sallowpad, Peridan, or anyone else in this council not going with you to Ettinsmoor, they are essential to the army power of Narnia as much as the castle's protection itself, how could something like this be even considered when things with Ettinsmoor are—"

"If I may…" Mr. Tumnus interrupted when the Queen's voice had begun to rise with the desperation she so obviously couldn't hold back; and though a certain shade of pink rose easily onto the faun's cheeks over having interrupted his friend and monarch, he was also rather glad that all speech came to a halt as he had hoped; thus, he gulped, cleared his throat, and began to speak: "…as ambassador, a post I very heartily and gratefully accepted from your majesties, I can honestly say that, although things  _are_ very dire with the giants, after these few weeks between inviting Prince Rabadash to Narnia and his departure this morning, they are not so bad as to require having every available warrior at arm's length," he informed, "That is… not yet, at least. Therefore, I believe the High King might be right in encouraging an excursion to Tashbaan  _now_ for the sake of the time needed for such an important decision at such a time that it might work in Narnia's favour to bring peace with our far neighbours of the north." With a smile, and a proud silent encouragement from Queen Lucy beside him, Mr. Tumnus relaxed against his seat once more.

"Exactly," Peter said, nodding once with the finality he had learnt to have as High King many years before, "So it's settled, then; Queen Susan will go to Tashbaan with a few people, while Lord Frankfurt, Duke Lark, High Queen Athena, Second General Orius and I lead some of the army to Ettinsmoor to deal with the giants." The echoes of agreement from every person in the room echoed for a couple of beats before the High King nodded once more, leaned against the back of his chair, and said at last, "Now we only have to choose  _who_  will go with her on this voyage."

Edmund almost immediately sat straighter and said, "I'll go." Surprising almost everyone around him regardless of how his hand had refused to let go of Juliet's beside him, "Aslan knows how little I wish to leave Juliet, Arthur and the coming child behind, but I believe the castle will be in better hands between her and Lucy than if I stayed; they both have a less harder time being diplomatic than I do, and we've already got enough trouble with one country to end up with more because I happened to say something I shouldn't have."

Though Peter was smiling at the thought, a nod of his head made it clear he agreed, "Alright; so Edmund, obviously Sir Tumnus as ambassador, anyone else?"

"We could take the  _Splendor Hyaline_ , your majesty," Rafkin, the first dwarf who had spoken and one of the only two dwarves in the council, said. "I'm sure my brother would be honoured and up for the adventure; it is one of our smallest galleons, and therefore would leave plenty for war if necessary."

"Greatly thought, Rafkin, thank you," Peter nodded.

"I would like to go, too, if I may be allowed," said Prince Corin; the very first thing he had actually said in all but one other of the council meetings he had attended, even if he seemed much more excited than the formality of his words, "I won't be much trouble, I promise; I'd just like to be able to visit another country; as it is, I'm old enough now, right?" He paused, his eyes dancing between his aunt Juno's very evident little frown, the High King's stoic expression, Duke Lark's pressed lips and Queen Susan's kind smile, for he knew it was those four that would settle his ability to travel or not. "Please?" He even lifted his hands pressed together to beg.

"And I, your majesties," Sallowpad the raven said with a light flutter of his wings, "I know the country well, for I have flown over it many a time, and would be honoured if I could be guide to such a place in a venture like this."

A single breath escaped from the High King's parted lips before a final nod came and one of his hands pressed palm down against the table, "Fine; all who have spoken may take part of this voyage, but none else. Some in this council must remain behind to help Lucy and Juliet with the protection of the castle, whilst the rest of us are away."

"We could take some of the guard with us, just in case," Edmund said in turn, "Even in missions as peaceful as this, there is safety in numbers."

Almost everyone around the table nodded in agreement, but it was Peter who spoke last, "It's agreed, then; hopefully this voyage will bring security into the marriage proposal from Prince Rabadash." Then he turned to look at Susan again, "Was there anything else you wished to discuss, sister?"

Susan softly shook her head, "That was all,"

Peter thus stood, "Then let us all prepare for our respective journeys, and may both our causes find the peace and success we all hope they bring." With that, and the agreement of all present, chairs began to scrape the floors, hooves began to echo and the wings of Sallowpad blew a wind that led him out the small open window at the top of the highest wall.

But before the room truly did empty, Edmund's voice joined the many other noises to say, "Lord Peridan, Princess Juno, a word if you have time?" Of course the princess and the lord looked at each other shortly, but remained behind to bear witness to Edmund's sweet goodbye to Juliet before she left the room as well; once every single person had left and King Peter had closed the door behind him knowing the gravity of what the three left behind would speak of, King Edmund spoke again, "Peter and I noticed your worry at the thought of Prince Corin coming with us to Tashbaan, princess, and I thought it would be better if us three spoke about it, since I have a good idea of what it might be that worried you, and I don't think it was the young prince at all."

It almost seemed as if a little weight had been lifted off the princess' shoulders with the way in which she relaxed and even released a soft breath from parted lips, "It's not my nephew that worries me at all, thus you are right, your majesty." She confirmed, placing her hands softly for worry on her stomach as she went on, "It is my place as his guardian, and how unwise it would be for me to travel by his side in this journey that weighs within my mind."

Edmund nodded, "For the same reason you stayed hidden and quiet during all the time Prince Rabadash was visiting?" He wondered, curious as he was for such a reason, but refusing to ask for it out right; for all the diplomacy he lacked with strangers, being kind to friends never seemed to be hard for him.

Still, he was not at all surprised when Juno nodded almost at once, "I spoke of it only with Peter, for it was easier to hide within the castle than it might be to hide right under the Tashbaan prince's nose if I were to go with you as Corin's guardian," she confessed, looking from a concerned Peridan to Edmund, who seemed only to be trying to figure things out, "The truth is, I think it might not be wise for me to come along, whether it be my own… uh… far… car… par… paranoia! That is the right word, isn't it?" she wondered in the direction of Peridan, who had almost always served as help for translations whenever duke Lark was not around, and when the kind Lord nodded his head, Juno turned to speak to Edmund again, "Right, whether it is for my own paranoia, or some unknown wisdom that has ever made me unable to trust Calormene for anything, I believe keeping me out of view of this foreign prince would be best, especially after what Lark told me of his own impressions during the only two days he was present of the celebrations. Thus, indeed, I think Corin should go, it would be good for him to get out further away from the castle than just the village, but alike… I think _I_  shouldn't, for I strongly believe the Calormen Prince's foreign charm to be false, and if such is true, then I know exactly what his kind of person wishes more than anything in the world:" she paused, looking from Edmund to Peridan and back again. "Power," she completed, "So I think, for caution, I should stay very far away from him as possible."

It was Peridan who spoke before Edmund could even think to agree, "But, if you will not mind my intruding with such a question, your royal highness," he attempted, "Why stay away? Is the prince in danger?"

Princess Juno's head shook enough to make the loose tips of her hair move with the motion, "Nay, not even a little bit, I don't think; else I would set my foot down as his guardian that he should not go to Tashbaan at all. No, my Lord Peridan, it is I who could bring trouble for Narnia's prospect of alliance with Calormen if Prince Rabadash should set eyes on me, for if I am right, and this prince is false with his emotions, then what he has fallen in love with is the crown that would land on his head from the moment he and Queen Susan were joined in marriage; one which, though he would be a King as powerful as King Edmund, would not give him the absolute power he truly desires.

At moment, Queen Susan is the most powerful unmarried woman in the land, as she remains even with me by her side; but Calormene see things differently." The princess continued, almost even blushing for the implication of what she had said, lest anyone think she thought herself of a higher position than Queen Susan, "In the Prince's eyes, if he were to learn I am the unmarried half-sister of King Lune of Archenland, it would mean a marriage to me would leave him to  _rule_ Archenland in my place if something were to happen to my brother and Corin; a King  _alone_ , with no one else to call themselves his equals alike they would in Narnia if he married Queen Susan. And if my fears are right, I know he would swiftly find a way for us to marry before _something_  mysteriously happened to Lune and Corin, and even me, after I gave him a child;" her head shook again, making clear the very fears she spoke of over the anguish that shadowed her eyes at once. "Thus, nay, I dare not show my face in a place where I could so accidentally run into him by chance, where I could not lie as to who I am, and where all of Narnia and the Queen's wishes could come apart at once."

Well, Edmund would almost place his hands on fire to express his belief that Prince Rabadash of Tashbaan was exactly the sort of person Princess Juno thought he was, but other than nodding in understanding to the cautions the bronze-skinned princess stated, he couldn't exactly say much else without making his own thoughts on the foreign intended public if only to Peridan and Juno; thankfully, the latter spoke swiftly before he even thought of having to say something himself. "But, as his guardian…" She said, still with worry, "Doesn't it seem impossible for me not to go? Maybe he shouldn't go either, I…" she released a heavy breath that nearly shook with her own anxiety.

"Well, such is the reason why I pulled you and Lord Peridan aside, princess," Edmund finally said, setting one hand on the hilt of his sword for comfort as he ever did and setting the solution for them to see, "Both of us could protect the Prince in your name with one of us stepping up as their apparent guardian, as Lark himself acted during the two days he was present for the tournament," he offered, looking from the princess to Peridan in search of his agreement almost at once.

It didn't take too long for the Lord to wholeheartedly agree, "I could be the one to act as guardian," he announced, "It would be my honour; besides if your majesty became the guardian apparent then many of the nobles could confuse such an act as Narnia taking Prince Corin for a ward."

Edmund nodded, "You're right, of course," how could he have looked over that very important fact? He was lucky he had been able to trust Lord Peridan so much as to wish him to be his accomplice, otherwise… "I dare not do such a thing without speaking to King Lune first, and there is not enough time as to allow us such a thing since we must depart so swiftly."

Smiling, the beautiful Archen princess was unable to hide her hope, "I would ever be thankful onto you, Lord Peridan, for holding guardianship of my nephew in my stead," Even one of her hands moved to rest on the Lord's forearm. "And to you both," she looked at the King without removing her hand from Peridan's arm, "for watching over him in this journey."

Though Peridan did not speak even for a while after the princess' hand had fallen, he did smile at her and nod in the same way King Edmund did, "All we would need is a letter written by Duke Lark, approved by you, princess, which allows Lord Peridan such a position; he would carry this in his person at all times, making him Prince Corin's guardian for all intents and purposes in case anyone else asks about it, yet allowing us both to keep an eye on him at the same time. After all, the Duke is to leave with my brother, so the perfect explanation for this necessity can be given if need be."

The Princess gratefully nodded, smiling in such a way that so clearly made her freedom and relaxation evident in every single one of her features, "I will have him work on it at once, and will give it to Lord Peridan before this day is over."

And with that, the plan was set; in two days the  _Splendor Hyaline_  would depart the shores of Narnia in direction to the south, and from there Tashbaan and the seemingly yet undecided future of Queen Susan and Prince Rabadash, so called in his country:  _the great._


	55. Chapter 55

─ ♚ ─

A more beautiful day than the one he faced upon that early arrival at Narnia had not dawned before; or so Edmund Pevensie thought as his feet walked the grassy paths toward Cair Paravel with Corin and Lord Peridan by his sides. Susan walked somewhere behind with Mr. Tumnus, but she was safe, therefore the young King could focus much more on the many things he had come to take for granted in his land before going to Tashbaan; he could see the trees chatting, curtsying in their leafy way as the two monarchs of Narnia passed, he could see the joy in the creatures' faces as they stopped and acknowledged the group that slipped out of the beach in the direction of Cair Paravel, and when his feet finally stepped upon the familiar gravel of the castle, the pride and security in the guards' faces, as much as the many gardeners that rose and waved at them with outmost respect only made him feel like he truly and wonderfully was back at home. Not to mention Queen Lucy, who ran in their direction with a wide grin, and Queen Juliet, who looked paler than usual, but had a pretty bump growing upon her stomach and therefore had her hugging him in a way she hadn't since Arthur had been born.

No more sorrow-filled faces, no more seeing how masters hit slaves over minute mistakes, no more of the strange smells of Tashbaan, no more of listening to people wish an eternal life on the Tisroc; just his wife, holding him in such a way that finally brought life back into his heart, just the guards who did not fear him, just the workers of the castle who knew that a mistake would not cost them their lives. "Oh, I missed you," he said against Juliet's hair, holding her against his body in a way that almost had Queen Lucy giggling. "Both of you," he continued, pulling Lucy into an embrace that shifted shortly only for the sake of the familial love he held for his sister; and though he kissed both their heads, it didn't take long before he let go of Lucy and simply held onto his wife's hand. "Where's Arthur?" And smiled in such a way that he didn't feel he had done since they had arrived in Tashbaan almost four weeks before.

Though her other hand rested on the small growth of her stomach, Juliet's chin motioned in the direction of the castle's entrance, where the physician, and a couple of her maids were coming out with faces almost as pale as Juliet's own, "He's within, breaking his fast," she looked at Edmund again, and though her smile almost fully reached her eyes, she did also seem tired, even if she tried to hide it as she held onto the king's hand, "We ne'er expected thy arrival 'til next week, therefore no preparations were made."

"It's none the matter, I'm only glad to be back," Edmund admitted, lifting Juliet's hand to press a soft kiss against its back.

"Was it that bad?" Princess Juno wondered as she stepped down the couple of stairs away from the castle whilst Lucy parted out of an embrace with her older sister.

"Oh, Juno, worse," the Gentle Queen said, placing one of her hands softly on one of Mr. Tumnus' shoulders as the rest of the party began to arrive around them, "If it weren't for Sir. Tumnus we might have been trapped there without escape,"

"Because we  _had_ to escape, let no one else tell you any different," Edmund added regardless of the little smile that otherwise lifted his features; "This Rabadash was just as bad as I thought, and I can assure you that if we had not made up a fake feast to take place in the  _Splendor Hayline_ , we might all still be stuck in that palace of his with a gentle reminder that  _to hear is to obey._ "

"Those Calormene  _were_  strange folks," Prince Corin admitted as he approached his aunt, who warmly welcomed him by placing an arm around his shoulders easily, "Though I would definitely have liked to know what became of that boy you thought was me; he seemed a nice bloke."

"Only for your notion that you could have fun fooling us with him, your royal highness," Lord Peridan said, though smiling, as he helped carry chests out of the carriage to set at the foot of the stairs for workers and servants to bring inside, "We're only lucky the lad kept his mouth shut over what he heard, else we  _would_ be stuck in Tashbaan for the foreseeable future."

Lucy smiled then as both her arms crossed under her chest and her brows lifted in a curious raise, "A fake feast in the galleon and a boy that was confused for the Prince?" She wondered, looking from her siblings, to Corin, to Mr. Tumnus with a sort of pride she only ever showed when her friends and family did something incredible, "Well, you've all gone and had yourself an adventure, I see." Even Juno beside her was smiling almost from ear to ear; though perhaps she wouldn't have been if she'd known the trouble Prince Corin had gotten into (alike the reason behind that fading bruise on his eye), but now that everyone was back and away from the tyranny of the Calormene, nothing would have kept the smile away from her lips, "Why, I say you should all come in and break your fast with us, I wish to hear every second of this wild Calormene adventure of yours."

"Arthur will be happy to see thee, my heart," Juliet said, leaning against Edmund shortly before they all truly began moving toward the wide Northern door into Cair Paravel, "He's spent naught a day outside thy library, calling thee in that funny way of his, and crying until he was set to play under thy portrait."

"Truly," Lucy agreed, holding her skirts carefully as she turned about to climb the steps, regardless of how her eyes rested on her brother only and the mirth remained upon her lips, "If I heard one more  _Mudmund_ coming from the prince's mouth I would have resulted to ordering Lady Rochford to carry that portrait of yours everywhere the prince went."

And perhaps he should not have been surprised; for ever since the boy had begun to speak, equal amounts of  _Dulet_ and  _Mudmund_ had left him in request of his mother and father; but though such a love had been given him ever since the boy had begun to crawl, the young King still couldn't entirely get used to his son loving him so deeply as to cry until he was set under his portrait to play. How could he? He who had been so overly terrified to fail him upon his birth? But indeed, his heart felt as if it grew two sizes with the words spoken, and though he had been about to say something to the subject along the lines of his feigned arrogance whenever he doubted himself, barely had his lips been able to part when a wild call of "Your majesties!" came from the other side of the field.

All eyes shifted in the direction of the call, where a young unknown brown stag was making his way tiredly in their direction with an expression of complete worry and solemnity that almost shifted to relief when he rested no more than five meters away from the party that had been heading into the castle, "Your majesties, oh your majesties, you  _are_  here!"

"Chervy?" It was Prince Corin who responded, not Susan, Lucy, Edmund or Juliet, who simply stared at the stranger stag with a frown or a deeper paleness in the latter's case. "Why, it  _is_  Chervy!" the prince exclaimed, "This stag is my friend!" And nothing, not even the news he carried, would have made that smile of his disappear at the recognition of his good friend, the stag.

"Indeed, your royal highness, it is I," He was one of the few creatures that had gotten to know Prince Corin during the years he had lived in Cair Paravel, and in fact called him a close friend, "But I am afraid I come not to play, but carrying ill news, for—" he breathed the moment he finally paused a couple of steps away from the frowning monarchs, "For your majesties, I—" He lowered in a sort of bows only stags could manage to make, with his back legs perfectly on the ground as one of his front ones folded and his frame lowered fully until his nose touched the gravel under his hooves, "I beg, Queen Lucy, King Edmund, Queen Susan, Queen Juliet, forgive me and think not ill of me for being the bearer of such news,"

"Please, kind stag, rise," Lucy said, stepping down the steps she'd already climbed and showing the sort of patience neither Edmund or Susan had; Juliet was much too tired to be able to have anything but patience, but as she held onto her husband she said nothing, and simply stared. "We will not think anything but kind things of you, thus, please, tell us, what news do you bring?"

Chervy the stag rose, and began speaking at once, "'Tis news brought from a foreign traveller who wished to come to speak to you himself, but he only has two legs, and he did seem rather like death had come to claim him and—come to think of it, he doesn't look too different from—"

"Please, master Chervy," said Edmund, whose patience had ran out and therefore held onto Juliet's hand slightly tighter than before, "the news."

The stag shook his head alike perhaps a human would to bring his mind into order, making his ears flop prettily enough that no one could truly be angry at him even then, "Right, yes, beg pardon, your majesty," He bowed again, but rose fairly quickly, "It is thus: that two hundred horsed Calormene are being led by Prince Rabadash into Anvard at this moment; so was claimed by the young human foal,"

It was Queen Susan whose expression became heard over all others, "Calormene?" She wondered as a hand lifted to rest upon her chest, as if that alone were to keep her heart in place. "Calormene in Archenland, you are sure?"

The stag's head shook shortly again, "Well, I did not see them with mine own eyes, but the lad seemed truthful."

"Besides, is it  _really_ so unbelievable after the way we departed, sister?" Edmund demanded, his brow furrowing as he looked from Susan to Juliet almost at once; because the truth was that, the second he had seen his wife, worry had come upon his heart, for she was pale, she seemed more tired than she ever did, and even her smile didn't seem to have the same strength that he so loved, which could truly light up a whole room; but an alliance had been set with King Lune the last time they had seen each other, and if no one went to his aid in such a moment, then all the peace they had found with him would be for naught, and therefore all trouble with the Archen King would return.

Besides, had Duke Lark and Peter himself not said that the King had changed? Yes, he had gone so far as to ordering their deaths in such a way that had killed Juliet for almost a week, and for it Edmund didn't think he deserved their help, but… well,  _he_  had nearly killed his siblings himself upon their first arrival in Narnia, even if by accident, and still the country had forgiven his mistakes enough to accept and respect him as King… "Well, then, what are we all standing around here waiting for; for the grass to grow?" It was Lucy who seemed to have decided for everyone as both her hands lifted to begin undoing her dress.

"Lucy!" Susan exclaimed scandalised as many of the men in the party, as much as Chervy himself, began moving to look away from the undressing Queen, "What are you doing?!"

But the youngest Queen did not stop pulling strings and lowering her sleeves until all folds of her dress were all but a pile at the foot of the castle's steps, "Will you relax, Susan?" In fact, she only rolled her eyes as the chain of her mail, covered only on the torso and down by a well formed chest piece, proudly showed by the time she stepped off of the pile her fancy dress had become and kicked off the pretty red slippers off her feet, "I've been wearing my armour under my dress every day since everyone left in case Peter needed me, now let's go! My boots, my cloak and my bow are in the armoury, we need to go to King Lune's aid!" And with that, the folds of Lucy's warrior dress flew behind her as she began to make her way to the eastern field, where the armoury rested.

And truly, who could argue with such a display? In fact, Edmund found no other option than to nod his agreement as he turned to look at Juliet, who smiled her encouragement, "I know I've only just got back, but—"

"Go," The protector said with that smile that didn't fully reach her eyes in her tiredness, "I shall be fine here with Susan," and though the King wished to do nothing other than take his wife in his arms and inquire as to what exactly had happened during his time away, the King in him forced him to nod, press a longing kiss against Juliet's lips, and let go of her at once. "At arms!" He called as he turned away from her, reluctantly, but perfectly contained to the duty that there faced him, "At arms, all who will join us; to Anvard!"

It was absolutely no surprise when Lord Peridan, and half of the party that had gone to Tashbaan began running in the direction Queen Lucy had disappeared to, joining her to prepare the numbers that had stayed behind in case the High King needed them in Ettinsmoor; all would have indeed been perfectly swift if it weren't for the Just King making note of one well uninvited person joining others on the run toward the armoury, "Prince Corin," he called, loudly enough for the young prince to have no other option than to turn about, "And where exactly do you think you're going?"

A slightly disappointed expression looked back at Edmund as the prince's shoulders fell, "Please, do let me come with you," he said, all sense of propriety gone from his voice.

And if ever the eloquence and seriousness came from his lips like it had done in the many meetings in Cair Paravel, the King vowed, he would not believe a word of it. "I believe you don't understand, your royal highness, we're going into battle, that is no place for a child to be—"

"Oh, I am not a child," Prince Corin interrupted quite swiftly as his back straightened and both his arms fell to his sides, "I do believe I am older than you were when you battled the White Which, your majesty, and I do not think this Rabadash is half as bad,"

Oh, he did not know what he was speaking of; like Edmund had done once upon a time, it was clear that Corin of Archenland thought of war as a game, that he wished to do nothing more than to strike blades with the enemy for the honour and the glory of it, that until he stood in the middle of the battlefield with a stranger's blood running down on his armour the idea of battle would be nothing but a young boy's dream. And thoughts like that could get him killed; they  _had_ killed Edmund, only he had been lucky enough Lucy had been carrying her cordial and administered a drop just before it was entirely too late. But, of course, such a thought did not take longer than a couple of seconds, and though he had been about to state his decided mind that there was no way the boy was going to join them, the treacherous disagreement from his older sister came at once through the speck of a smile, "He is right on that,"

And what else, for the sake of time, could the young king do than glance in her direction with short discomfort before he looked into Princess Juno's eyes, "I leave it to you, Princess,  _you_ 're his real guardian, not me." But, oh, how he prayed, as everyone's eyes shifted in the Princess' direction, that she would simply put her foot down and say no.

Unfortunately, he wouldn't be so lucky, "He is old enough, as he will be King one day," Juno said, looking perhaps as nervous about her own decision as Edmund felt, "I believe he should learn what a battle looks like."

So the young prince was off with a smile and a hopeful brightness in his well mischievous eyes, and though every ounce of Edmund's body wished they had more time for him to convince the girls that it wasn't a great idea for Corin to come along, he had to force himself to agree with the outcome of the prince's involvement regardless of how a safety plan began to form inside his mind, "I think I should come along, too," Princess Juno said, walking in his direction and thus bringing back his attention to the group on the stairs, of which Juliet had already disappeared into the castle to drive up the worry in his mind further yet. "As you said, I  _am_ his guardian," but the soft doubt in her voice was so evident that it made the young King feel thankful that at least  _one_ person had the sense of being wary of battle.

Perhaps having someone with such sense near would be good for the young prince, "Do you know how to fight?" He wondered, not because he doubted her, but because, unlike his knowledge of the prince training to be a warrior, he had no idea of the things the Princess did on her free time.

To his surprise, a small embarrassed scoff of a breath escaped her lips, "Not at all," she admitted, "Unless the basic handling of a pocket knife counts."

But it really didn't, "Then I believe it would be best if you stayed behind," he told her with a sort of softness well known in the court as he moved to place a hand on her shoulder, "Lord Peridan and I can keep an eye on him, make sure he's safe, you have my word."

She didn't even take too long before she began to nod, "You brought him home safe, I trust you."

Well, he hadn't exactly brought him back without an issue, if the confusion between the prince and that raggedy boy was anything to go by, but given his own plans to keep the prince very far away from the battle, he was sure he could manage to keep the princess' trust for a little longer; thus, with no more than a nod in her direction, he left, running towards the armoury with a little frown that only managed to disappear when he saw Lucy directing the formation of the army and the guards seamlessly and as if she had been born for such a thing, with Peridan holding the Narnian flag proudly in one hand at the front of the formation, Corin beside him, and Edmund's horse, Phillip, waiting patiently at Peridan's other side. He was sure to let Lucy know he was proud of her later, but as he slipped into the armoury shed there was something much more imminent that rested within his mind; "Sir Thornbut," he called to the nearest dwarf who had been donning his armour with the help of one of the fauns; when he turned to look at Edmund, he said "A word before we go, please?" It only took the dwarf a couple of beats more before he was moving in direction of the King with a sort of hopeful look in his eye; but Edmund had no time to wonder what exactly he was hoping for, "I wonder if I could ask a favour of you; it will keep you away from battle, but it will be as honourable as being right at its front."

"Of course, your majesty," said the dwarf, standing much straighter than before, "anything."

Edmund almost smiled, "I would like your full duty to be in the act of making sure Prince Corin of Archenland is far from the battle," he confided with a note that would assure him only Thornbut heard him and none of the other warriors slipping out of the armoury near them did, "It is important that he is able to see it unfolding, for he must learn, but he is under no circumstances to  _fight_  in it, understood? He would be entirely under your charge."

Of course, a sort of hidden disappointment made the dwarf's shoulders fall, but he would dare not sound let down regardless of how evident it was, "Understood, your majesty."

And they were ready to go; that is… "Thornbut?" Edmund called again after the dwarf had begun to make his way out of the armoury, for every mischievous action of the young prince's, from the moment they had left Narnia to the moment they had gotten back, had a brand new wariness coming into the king's mind.

"Yes, your majesty?" The dwarf wondered.

"If by any means you think he'll disobey," he told the poor clueless dwarf, trying to not seem as worried as he actually felt, "I bid you permission to bind one of his wrists to yours as you would a prisoner of war."And thus they were ready to leave; a worried dwarf managing to follow close behind the Prince's horse to see what he had gotten into, and a duty-filled King Edmund thinking that, surely with all the precautions he had taken, Prince Corin wouldn't be a little bit of a problem from then until the end of the battle.

Of course, he had been wrong.

Not more than a few hours later, as the great marching party paused for a short moment to rest nearing the crossing of the mountain, a wild fight had had to be stopped and parted between Sir Thornbut and Prince Corin; and though it had all well been shortly overshadowed by the reunion of the prince with that strange boy from Tashbaan that looked too eerily like the prince himself, Edmund couldn't help but understand he had lost that personal battle—not to mention, had a warrior wounded before the real battle began—and wonder just how much more mischievous Corin could be; from returning to the palace with a black eye and a few scratches for the sake of Queen Susan's honour, to confessing to having been confused with the ragged boy, to fighting with a knight of Narnia in the pure edge of battle… Had the prince been such a handful since before their trip to Tashbaan? The King wondered as the party further approached Archenland's main palace and the echoes of a battering ram began to be audible before the source of the sound was seen, if he had, then suddenly and at once, Edmund understood that it was not his son leaving the children's caretakers in the castle absolutely exhausted at the end of the day, but Prince Corin, with his wild notions and the stubbornness of his own heart.  _Like father, like son,_ if anyone could judge by the horrid stubbornness of King Lune, which would have cost the Narnian monarchs their lives if it had all gone the way he had wished it to.

And yet there Edmund and Lucy were, at the head of the army that had come to help King Lune against the Calormene who, as they could see when they arrived at the top of the hill that looked down on Anvard, tried to break through the castle's door with a thick tree trunk once every few seconds; if anyone had told him he'd be fighting for Archenland at the beginning of that year he probably would have laughed, but there he was, helping Lucy rearrange the troops and talking with the head of the feline warriors as the echoes of the battering ram continued low upon the hill.

And so it would begin, with nothing but the silence as the storm unfolded with thunder brought from the battering ram every time it struck against the thick door, with a sun high nearing the west of the sky, with the eagles flying high upon the air detecting the very battle that was to unfold below them, with even the birds resting in their nests near that spot quiet enough for even the commanding words of Prince Rabadash to echo all the way to where they were; the leopards, panthers, tigers and cheetahs all dug their claws against the soil under them while a low rumble came from the depths of their leader's throat,  _steady_ it told them in a better note than any a human voice could have spoken, inviting other low growls to meet it,  _Steady_ , it continued as the great yellow eyes of the head leopard lifted to meet the cautious browns of the Just King. A single nod of his head sent the leader leopard running down in the direction of the unhorsed Calormene as they waited for the door to break; it was the rumbling of the big cats' paws against the ground that took the foreigners by surprise, and though they straightened their postures, reached for their swords, and even forcefully let go of the great tree trunk, nothing could have helped them against the sharp claws and teeth of the many felines of the Narnian army; blood began to spill against the once clean grass, and when all other Calormene had fallen off their spooked horses, the felines turned about and ran back towards the front line.

They were many yards apart, but still, Edmund Pevensie could have sworn that Prince Rabadash had stared directly at him all the way across that empty field; his lips parted, and though the King could not hear what was said, it became clear for the way in which the still many unharmed warriors began to gather what horses they could and formed horizontally in a line that swiftly faced the Narnian force; Phillip under him hit a hoof against the ground he stood in, and though Lucy's horse was not a talking beast, it mirrored Phillip's actions at once, "Ready, sister?" Edmund wondered, unsheathing his right-side sword as the many cats began to gather upon the place they had been only moments before, by the side of fauns, dwarves, and many other creatures that formed the army.

As she pulled an arrow from her quiver, the Valiant Queen nodded, making what little loose hairs came from her braid dance with the motion, "Let's get him," and as her words finished, the loud echo of a distant roar of yells came in the opposite direction of the field. "For Narnia!" came the call of the youngest Queen, loud enough to be heard to the rear of the group as all got ready for the word that would send them all in a gallop to meet the enemy below.

"And for Aslan!" Edmund completed in a wild echo that matched his sister's along the the forward motion of this arm, making their horses race ahead and all the creatures behind them follow their lead in a swift charge that felt much too eternal until the two sides collided in a perfect clash of swords, horses, and wills; where before there had been the echoes of battle screams now there only rested the clicking of steel against steel, hooves against hard ground, and grunts and moans of pain as duels were won and lost at all sides. One Calormene came at Edmund still on his horse, clashing a twisted scimitar against his sword, yet swiftly becoming able to trying a slash at him again; it was that second slash that would have gotten him right in between his shoulder blades if he hadn't given up his hold on Phillip and twisted sideways until his whole body slipped away from the horse's body and onto the hard ground. Yes, the king was down, sorely so as his breath slowly attempted to return onto his lungs, but such a manoeuvre had allowed his loyal horse to block all other attacks in his direction until such a moment as he could stand again; then, and only then did Phillip go off on his own to battle against the Calormene who fell from their terrified horses for stupidity the way Edmund had done for the sake of survival. No more than a second later the King reached for the blade he had dropped on the fall, and, as he stood from the ground, his right hand moved to retrieve the left-side sword from its scabbard at once; and just in time, too, for both swords had to be used against two Calormene that had immediately come at him with no sense of justice, but the best swordsman in Narnia beat them both, with a slash to one side, to the other, a couple of swift twists of his body, and only a scratch against his armour to claim for the battle he had fought. There the two Calormene lay as the echoes of other battles rumbled around him, from the growls of the cats that scared off horses, to the whinnies of the horses themselves as they charged or ran, to a bright familiar flow of a protected dress as Lucy kicked on one side and sent an arrow flying with another; but what most interested the King was the odious voice of the foreigner who would have forced his older sister to his side,  _Rabadash._

Oh, there was a sort of vengeance boiling deep within his blood that made the young King able to bring another Calormene to his end regardless of how his sight focused only on the foreign prince; yes, of course he looked away from the busy royal when another called for his attention in battle, but ever did his gaze return to the very man who most seemed to disgust him upon that field. And perhaps he would have reached him, perhaps then he would have fought the Tashbaan Prince and ended that battle once and for all, but just as he was two or three duels at most from his goal, the echoes of a familiar voice came from somewhere near; it was no more than the childish echo of a "Take that!" which brought the Just King to a halt, searching for the very source of the voice and finding it swiftly enough when he noticed Prince Corin almost expertly twisting on his spot as he blocked a slash from one of those beautiful scimitars.

"Corin," the King said almost as a curse while the hold on the hilts of his swords tightened for the clear stubbornness of the young prince; he should have forced the kid to stay behind, he should have not been so noble as to allow his guardian the freedom of letting him go to war, he should—oh, and by Aslan, was that the young boy from Tashbaan the prince had gotten reunited with at the bend of the mountain doing lying on the ground in a pile of a badly worn armour? Almost immediately Edmund forwent his idea of fighting Rabadash at once, for the promise he had made Princess Juno of taking care of the young prince lay heavy on his mind, and thus he fought more Calormene, but this time for the end of reaching Corin and getting him to leave the battlefield; on a slash went and came, blades hitting his armour in covered places and giving him the opportunity to slash back in a deadlier manner, but still the young fighting prince seemed too far.

If there had been time notice anything but the echoes of the dying men and the familiarity of the fighting young Prince, perhaps Edmund would have noticed that most all whinnies had ceased, meaning the only horses left were those from the Narnian side, but his goal was one, and not a little bit of it was broken until the grand grumble of the great wooden door of the castle began to open inch by inch, and then all notion of Prince Corin fighting in battle went from his mind; the head of his latest battle enemy lay spread on the ground inches from the body it had once belonged to, so Edmund could take a moment to note the group that began slipping out of the opening door at once. One by one they came out by foot, carrying swords, daggers, bows and arrows and therefore bringing upon a defence against the outnumbered Calormene, carrying the familiar colours of Archenland as they went; and at the head, which surprised Edmund more than anything he had seen in the past forty eight hours, was the rather robust figure of King Lune himself, with his wide clothes hugging his body in such a way that he could fight, but not tightly enough that it couldn't entirely hide the roundness of his belly. Of course, for a moment all the Just King could do was wonder what all had happened in the many years since that scene at the front of Cair Paravel had passed, but soon the echoes of the battle around him came wildly enough again and he was back into the fight with a blade cutting deep onto the side of his arm; it wouldn't do for the best swordsman in Narnia to lose due to being distracted, and so he began to fight again.

It was true, the fight did not truly go on for as long as it felt it did, but still there was a moment in which Edmund was getting up from the ground steps away from the castle's door that his gaze met with the Archen King's many feet away from him; it was only but a moment, for no sooner had both his feet been planted on the ground again that the loud echo of a battle cry made him look beside him swiftly enough to raise both his swords to stop the attack that came mercilessly in his direction, and before he could be too surprised, the familiar twisted expression of the Tashbaan Prince faced him like a horror of a dream long gone. It seemed his hopes had come true in the end: he was to fight Rabadash face to face, "You monster," he said, pushing against the strength of the Prince with both his blades until it made him take a step back.

But other than an insane laugh nothing would come from the Prince's lips as his single bade clashed with both of Edmund's, once and again they stroke, and once and again they missed, stepping forth and back until the dance led them mindlessly to stand under the very threshold of the castle; the echoes of the battle had thinned considerably, but the Narnian king and the foreign prince were wild as they fought one to one approaching the beginning of the inner castle wall. Unfair as it was, the prince had absolutely no shame when he twisted his body to slash at Edmund so time could be left for him to stand atop a mounting block and the blows of his scimitar could fall hard against Edmund's swords, but the King  _was_ the best swordsman in the land, and therefore no true advantage could come from a higher ground against the expert blows given back; indeed, no advantage for the prince, but one the young King did hope one of the archers could see if they had time to pay attention to any battle but theirs, for the height in which the prince stood made him an easy target for any arrow that willed to go his way. It didn't take too long even for an idiot such as Rabadash to realise the perish he had put himself in, and though for a moment Edmund wished he had been a little stupider so he had stayed up there for a little longer, no luck would claim his name by the moment the prince's scimitar lifted on the air and the loud echo of his voice tooted against the castle's inner walls, "The bolt of Tash falls from above!" Before he jumped up in the air with clear hopes of landing a clash against swords to match the very words he spoke.

The effect was lost, for the expected blow did not come from the direction it should have, and instead accompanied a battle cry come from behind Edmund at once; and perhaps luck  _had_ been in his side, for surely he would not have been able to fight against two very strong blows come at the same time, but for some reason he dared not question upon that moment, Rabadash's blow had never fallen, and instead Edmund was fighting face to face with another Calormene soldier that carried a gaze as wild as it very evidently was scared. That battle led him away from the inner wall toward the threshold of the castle once again, and it was there that the silence of all other battles fell heavy on his own ears as the clashing of his sword against the enemy scimitar filled the quiet all around them; it was a silence that drove the king to move faster and faster until no blows could meet his speed, and before long, the Calormene soldier lay on the ground, his weapon gone from his grip and his hands lifting in a tremble to cover his face, "Please," he said, shaking on the ground and waving his hands protectively over his lips and eyes, "Please, I surrender; I surrender."

And at those words, all the fire was gone from King Edmund's eyes.

Too slowly for the soldier on the ground, but surely, the king's hands began to lower, and with it his blades, "What is your name?" He wondered with jaded breath as a single hand moved to place one of his swords back on its scabbard.

Trembling, but slowly lowering his hands, the Calormen soldier gulped once, "Ch-Chlamash, king," he answered, for he clearly never had dealt with royalty of the Narnian kind before, "Chlamash Tarkaan."

With bloodied armour, but with the very peace intended written upon his features, Edmund Pevensie offered his free hand to the fallen soldier, "Then stand, Chlamash Tarkaan, go free with those few who survived and ran, and tell all of how the barbaric Kings and Queens of Narnia and Archenland will not attempt a war with Tashbaan regardless of the offence here brought this day." Unsurprisingly, and without the breath of a word, the soldier took the King's hand and stood, barely even stopping to look into his eyes for a moment before he simply turned about and ran, straight in the same direction that all those Calormene that had dropped their weapons long before had gone soon after their horses had.

It wasn't too long after that the robust king of Archenland approached him with a cautious step and a grateful smile lifted upon his lips, "Edmund," he said, in a note so friendly that if he were meeting Lune for the first time, no thought of the horror he had brought upon them in years past could come into his mind.

And what else could Edmund do, when forgiveness, even one such as the one that faced him, was one of the things he had learnt to hold close within his heart? "We did not come to your aid for this end," he began, moving to sheathe his other sword regardless of the blood that stained it, "But still, I do hope now that we have shown we keep our word, everything else can be put behind."

It was as if a weight had been swiftly lifted from the older King's shoulders for the way in which he relaxed visibly, "Oh, it has been, my friend," he said, both his hands clasping shortly before him, "I remain ever sorry for all I did, and I thank you—you and Narnia—for the forgiveness given me when I did…" his head shook, "when I did the worst."

Well, he had not expected to say it out loud, but a sort of softness came upon the King when his hand lifted in offer for the older man, "You are not the only one standing in this field who has been forgiven by Narnia or my siblings after such a great betrayal." Indeed, all knew the tale of the youngest King's time with the White Witch, and it was for it that the gratefulness in Lune's face spread along his whole body as a gentle nod bobbed his head and his hand lifted to meet Edmund's in the amity finally found after all the years of tension between the realms.

It would have been a moment spoken deeply of in history if it weren't for the rumbling laughter that suddenly came from all around them; it had their hands parting away as soft confusion led their eyes to take in the scene both monarchs had been unable to even make note of for the moment they shared. Narnian and Archen soldiers had begun making their way inside the castle, but all were stopped spread about the inner field pointing in the direction of a sight that had both Edmund and Lune smiling for the foolishness of it all, and brought forth the explanation of why the great blow of  _the bolt of Tash_ had never fallen against his sword: risen steps away from the ground, on a hook meant to have held horses' reins in place, hung Prince Rabadash, kicking, flailing, and swinging his scimitar at all who dared come close, almost perfectly as if he were a piece of clothing put out to dry which danced with a wild wind of winter.

"Let me down, Edmund!" Howled the foreign Prince the moment his eyes found the young King; in fact, Rabadash kicked against the wall as if that were going to help him, but if all it did was make the laughter all the louder, "Let me—" He repeated, "Let me down and fight me like a king and a man! Or if you're too great a coward to do that, kill me at once!"

It wasn't even the insinuation that he was a coward that had the young king's hand reaching for the hilt of one of his swords, but the very horrors that had become clear Susan had been saved from; "Certainly," Edmund said with a frown as anger led him to take a step forward barely a second after the foreigner had spoken.

But before his feet could take him any further, a steady hand held onto his arm, "No, wait," it was King Lune, apologetic as he was for holding him so strongly, yet looking in the Prince's direction with a frown deep enough to almost make of his thick brows one; but he looked in Edmund's direction again, "By your majesty's good leave…" And, well, even such an honourable sentence had been diplomatic enough, for it should not have been spoken; not there, at least, as they stood barely past the thick doors of the castle of Anvard, and not when Edmund himself was a King of  _Narnia_  and the other was the rightful ruler of Archenland, of which land lay under his feet. Therefore, his hand loosened on the hold of his sword, allowing it to fall back safely into its scabbard as he forced his feet to take the same step backwards and his head to bob in a gentle nod; the floor was Lune's, and thus, all eyes fell on him and the prince hanging on the hook, "Your royal highness," Lune began with a stern tone, "If you had given such a challenge a week ago, I'll answer for it that there was no one in King Edmund's dominion, from the High King down to the smallest talking mouse, who would have refused it. But by attacking our castle of Anvard in time of peace without defiance sent you have proven yourself no knight, but a traitor," many of the soldiers cheered at that, cursing the prince openly with tiny echoes of  _yeah!_ "And one, I dare say, rather to be whipped by the hangman than to be suffered to cross blades with any person of honour, like the King who stands behind me." Emptily imaginative was the foreign prince as words became trapped between his lips and no more than a huff escaped him; and when he resumed kicking in the air and slashing his blade foolishly the laugher broke all around them once again. "Take him down," Lune said with the memory of a horrific smile across his lips to the nearest Archen soldier, "Bind him, and carry him within until our pleasure is further known," yet all words were spoken without once daring to look anywhere but the hanging prince, "Let's show him how  _barbaric_  we really are."

And so Edmund watched with a small frown as many Archen soldiers cheered their king on his new decision, and two of them moved to do exactly as Lune had requested, strongly wrenching Rabadash's blade from his flailing hand without much of a struggle and bringing the foreign prince finally down from the hook of his humiliation; it was only after the two soldiers disappeared with a screaming, threatening and even crying Tashbaan prince that the young King dared approach Lune with a careful touch of his arm, "What exactly are you planning to do with him?" He wondered in a soft voice when the Archen King looked at him again.

But Lune did no more than laugh as the friendliness of his expression returned at once, "Nothing at all, my dear friend," he replied in equal tone, lifting a hand to rest on Edmund's shoulder, and therefore making sure no one else would hear, "We will treat him as if he were a guest, you have my word; he will be properly fed, lodged in a room to match his status, and treated with nothing but kindness until a proper trial could be given him." He paused, "I do hope you and your royal sister may join us for such a time as the trial can be held?" Indeed, a sort of relief, and all of Edmund's hopes were truly restored swiftly by the promise and the invitation offered.

And from that day forward no one would call the foreign prince Great again; for the foolish humiliation and the punishment given to him soon after by the Lion himself would allow him to only be known as Rabadash the ridiculous: the man who lost and could never retaliate his vengeance lest donkey ears appeared permanently at the top of his head; and peace was fully found in Narnia once again.


	56. Chapter 56

─ ♚ ─

The peace found within the land came unwanted into her soft mind regardless of the joyous news brought forth by Duke Lark upon his return to Cair Paravel, telling her and all those within the castle that Edmund, Lucy, Corin and Peridan were to remain in Anvard until the fate of Rabadash could be settled and witnessed; It didn't matter that Susan Pevensie smiled and celebrated with everyone else when the news had been given, it didn't matter that the letter sent to her through the same messenger spoke of Edmund missing her so much that he would rather she came to him so they didn't have to be apart any longer, it didn't even matter that that same letter said that Prince Corin had decided to stay in Archenland with his twin brother and his father and extended an invitation to his aunt Juno to join them for the peace proven after the battle with the Tashbaan army, everything seemed simply unimportant to Juliet Capulet a day later as she sat, perfectly unwilling to move, upon the private seat within the hygiene station of the chambers she shared with Edmund.

She didn't even want to look, for the pain had come so suddenly and horribly that she hadn't even had time to truly consider anything until she had been sitting alone in that room; it hadn't been enough to see the trail of blood staining the inside of her stockings and shoe, it hadn't been enough to feel the rippling pain upon her hips, which had almost made her want to scream, it hadn't even been enough that some small part of her had silently groaned and pushed for a couple of seconds before the one thing that finally made her stop to think came uninvited into her mind: the disappearance of the pain, quickly, suddenly, and entirely as if it had never been in the first place. And the worst part was that… well, it was her fault; and so she didn't move, her hands began to tremble, her eyes began welling up with silent tears, but she didn't move, she simply thought, she stared at the linoleum in front of her, and she cursed herself within the very pain she wished she could still feel, because if she could still feel it, then it would mean that she was not empty, that she had not failed, that she had not caused the…

But she couldn't even think about it, not then, not when her heart felt as if it had stopped, not when the sorrow of her cause drowned her so fully that even the tears that fell against the softness of her cheeks went unnoticed; the truth seemed deadly, unwelcome, it slipped into her mind like an assassin that soon thereafter travelled within her bloodstream to reach the very centre of her heart, forcing her to face it and accept it regardless of how she would rather only sit there with all the pieces of her soul spread about the room's floors until either Aslan or the High Protectors decided to give her mercy and end her life, just let her rot and die within that room to be nothing but the legend of the world once again, allow her to disappear and flee from the very agony that made every single one of her muscles ache, made her blind as each tear fell more and more, just let her—

"Dulet!" But the tiny call of a familiar voice came from the other side of the door and perfectly made the shattered Mother realise how selfish she had been, "Ma! Dulet!" would she then have left Arthur behind, alone without the love of his mother when she herself had fought ardently until she had been allowed to  _be_  his mother in the first place? And Edmund; what of Edmund? Would she leave him there to mourn her death after the happiness she had seen within his eyes when he had arrived in Narnia the week before? Oh, she was a monster, unfeeling, unkind, a mother willing to leave her living child behind and her loving husband alike; how dared she? However dared she be so monstrous regardless of how death, true death, could not come into her heart?

She had to stand, force herself to do so swiftly, immediately, without minding the uselessness of her limbs from the shock, and be thankful that she had been playing with Arthur before the pain had begun, because if she hadn't been then he wouldn't have been there to pull her back from idiocy, calling her name in that funny way of his, reminding her that the rashness of her own personality could no longer be counted on, acted upon, not anymore; reminding her that she was not alone anymore, that there were more who depended on her, that loved her, and—

And then she saw it; the parts of her that would have made a mother of her a second time, would have, because the emptiness of her womb lay now within the bloody intimacy of the waste-seat, because her carelessness, her stubbornness to not listen to the physician when she had told her to rest and begin her lie in after the small drop of blood had been found on her sheets two weeks prior had brought forth what she knew would be called a miscarriage, an extremely premature delivery that came almost without pain because the child had been too small to need too big a path to slip out as if it had never been, all that was left was blood; blood and some strange chunks of what she would have been willing to bet were her insides rotting out of her after coming back to life if it weren't for the fact that she had been pregnant, just like she had seen that day in the privy of the hospital wing what felt like a lifetime prior, but then she had not been carrying a child, she and Edmund had barely even begun to be intimate so it was… well, it wasn't entirely impossible, but she knew better; granted, she had been completely surprised by the rot that had come out of her given that it had not happened on the other death she had suffered prior to that, but she'd known better, she'd had to have even if she had not known she had been able to carry children then, she had to have… right? She had to… she…

And then she began to scream.

It wasn't entirely a scream of terror but of agony, for the echoes of the sobs she had not allowed for one dead child before broke from her lips as her knees buckled under her and she fell upon the ground for the child who had not even been acknowledged; after all, had she not in fact thought of what she had felt that time as something to mimic the pains of her monthly bleeding when she had still been human in Italy? In truth, she didn't even have to go so far as to think of such a thing, for the pain that had come upon her only moments prior, bringing upon the end of her child, if she stopped truly to think in a detailed and torturous way about it, had been exactly the sort she had felt that day, regardless of the added torture of the wounds that had covered her from the death she had returned from. It was like that, bent over on the ground, crying endless tears of sorrow and pain and summoned by the echoes of her agony and the crying of a startled Arthur, how Juliet Capulet was found by the guards who always stood near the Western wing, "Your Majesty!" One called, standing with his sword in one hand and holding the hygiene room's door open, "Queen Juliet, are you hurt?" But the young protector couldn't answer, she just couldn't, her tears could drown her, her pain could kill her, and her sorrow could be enough to bury her alive within her mind if she let it, and even though Arthur cried behind the guards, selfishness travelled within her heart for the simple reality that faced her: she had not lost one child that day, but two, because she had not known then, but she had lost it, it had been killed by the assassin meant to have killed Lucy; if she had not died, if they had not been attacked, then she would have been a mother sooner, Arthur would be her second child, if she had not died, then a life would have come onto the world from her love for Edmund, and by not having known such a thing before it felt as if the loss had happened that day as well.

So it didn't matter that one of the guards began to try and help her up while the other began looking behind curtains, corners and under furniture to see if the disruption had come from an attack; it didn't matter that the horror of the truth shocked that same guard when he finally reached into the hygiene room to continue his search, when he saw the bloodied mess upon the waste-seat; it didn't matter that someone took Arthur away to try and calm him from the crying that broke against the walls of the room, it didn't even matter when the physician stepped into the room much later and confirmed the very thing the Soft Queen had already known, all that mattered was that she had failed. She had failed to be careful for the sake of the child she carried then, she had failed to listen, and she had failed to understand, to be able to acknowledge that one child that had grown inside her long before she had the title of Queen.

She had failed, and at least at that moment, nothing else could matter but that.

♦

The day in which Edmund Pevensie arrived to Cair Paravel with Lord Peridan, Mr. Tumnus, and Queen Lucy was one so quiet that even the small party felt the loss of all sense of joy they had had within the journey from Archenland to Narnia at simply crossing the gates of the grounds of the castle; and though the three humans dismounted their horses with curiosity and a small frown to wonder over the silence that surrounded them regardless of the curtsying gardeners and guards, it was Edmund who began to move swiftly away from the small group to head within the castle at once, mindful of the gravity of each corner he looked towards, and more importantly, how some of the gardeners and guards looked quickly away from him once they had shown him all the respect he deserved. "What's going on?" He heard Lucy say behind him to one of the guards who was bound to help them take the horses to the stables, and though the same question echoed lethally within his mind, he did not stay long enough to hear the guard's replay and said nothing until his steps on gravel had changed into the stone of the castle and his eyes focused on the few people he saw walking inside.

The truth of it was that King Edmund's mind ran wild with fear, for it immediately began to work magically to form an explanation to the doom found within a castle that was usually so loud with cheer; his brother had not yet returned, and thus he imagined him dead, returned in body only and resting in the middle of the throne room upon a table of gold and pearl awaiting to be buried; Rabadash was dead, but still he imagined the Tisroc, his father, having come to steal Susan from the safety of the castle, nothing left behind her other than her belongings in the Southern wing, come through in the night so silently that no hint of an attack had been left either on the castle or its grounds. And then there was Juliet, that stubborn, beautiful Queen of his, who could not permanently die but who could still break his heart in two for laying dead for a week the way she had that one time in front of him, when he had truly realised how much he loved her; what if something had happened to her? What if something had happened to Arthur, god did their child inherit his mother's immortality, or was he cursed to die a mortal death? How had they never thought to ask that, or to even wonder it?

His heart felt as if it were slowly falling down to his stomach, for he felt nauseous, but the tranquillity of his demeanour did not break, not even when he finally found a person that would not walk away from him with a bent head or a swift foot, "Mrs. Brighton!" He called, seeing the physician coming down the stairs with the same sort of sorrow that all around the castle seemed to carry; and as he walked swiftly toward her at least one of his worries could be set aside, for in her arms the kind physician held his sleeping son. "Is Juliet alright?" He asked, for there were other three worries that rested within his mind, "Are Susan and Peter?"

Though his hand and eyes focused only on Arthur for a few moments, fixing his clothes and smoothing his brown hair, it did not take long for the woman to reply, "Thy siblings rest well, your majesty, so far as we have heard from the High King, though it is not much." She fixed her posture for the sake of the sleeping prince and his loving father, "But the Queen, your wife—no, she is alright, I promise, she rests within your chambers, but I would—your majesty!" Indeed, the panic that had crossed his eyes had become enough for the kind lady to attempt comforting him, but even such had not been enough, for the second she had said where Juliet was, Edmund had began to run up the very stairs she had been coming down of with nothing but the echo of his title echoing around the walls behind him.

Whatever it was, he had not the patience to hear it from the physician's lips; and since Arthur rested asleep in her arms he needed not worry for him any longer. No, all he could think of was Juliet, her beautiful smile, the brightness of her eyes, and the way both of those things had been drowned in paleness and exhaustion the last time he had seen her; he ran through hallways and stairwells until he reached the Western wing, well past the room that would become Arthur's the moment he stopped wishing to sleep by their side, and only once he stood outside the closed door of the room he shared with Juliet did he stop; what would he find at the other side, he wondered as a hand lifted slowly to reach for the knob, but all thoughts escaped swiftly from his mind as he forced his hand to twist and his steps to lead him into the familiarity of his own room.

It was light with the warmth of the sun outside, but other than that, it felt more as if he were stepping into a tomb than a bedroom, for all was silent, it was cold, and upon the middle of the bed rested the sitting body of his beloved wife with only her legs covered by the sheets that had been a wedding present from the Beavers; there was a knot in the middle of his throat that he couldn't fully fight against as he closed the door, but then Juliet's head slowly turned to look in his direction, and his heart seemed to begin working again. "Juliet… what is it?" He wondered, but his feet refused to move.

And it was a relief, for both him to see her alive as it was for the young protector to not be away from him again; but alike the relief it brought within her mind there also came the pain, for seeing her husband standing there, safe, unharmed but for a couple of bandages on his arm, only reminded her of the very thing she had lost, the very failure she had suffered. And thus she gulped, her eyes beginning to glisten with forgotten tears, as her dry lips parted for the first time in three days to speak the very horrors resting in her heart, "I lost the baby… three days past." But even such words did not feel like they were enough.

They were enough for him, though, for suddenly he understood why all guards and servants refused to look in his direction, why a cloak of sorrow and death hung over Cair Paravel as if it were the only thing viable upon such a day, regardless of how everyone he loved was safe and unharmed whether inside the castle or far away; but still, he couldn't understand, if it had happened three days prior, then why was he only hearing of this now? Why had he not been told, why,  _why_ —"Why didn't you send for me?" He wondered out loud then, finally able to begin moving from the frozen spot he had found before, thinking of the fun he had been having whilst she suffered, thinking of how much he had been looking forward to seeing her again, thinking of his hopes for the child that grew within her this time after they had had practice with Arthur at last, and all the while his child had been gone, and Juliet… "I would have come—"

"Thou hath sounded so happy in thy letter," Juliet interrupted him, not moving but for her eyes, which followed him as he approached, as he reached the bed and finally sat by her side, "The peace with Archenland, the true spoken peace… I knew the meaning of it for thee, I; thy forgiveness, I dared not call thee into sorrow, not when something so important hast taken place, not when—" But she could speak no longer, for the knot brought on by her own failure had rose upon her throat again, and the tears of all her sadness released without a stop as Edmund's arms wrapped around her at once, "I'm sorry," Juliet tried between tears, but even such a word broke and barely became recognisable in her lips.

"No, shh," Edmund attempted as he held her against his chest, trying as he might to hold his own sadness away until a moment came when he could grieve for a child that would never come, because if such sorrow rested within his mind, then he could only imagine the agony his wife suffered; to have carried a life inside her body and lose it… but "It was not your fault," he told her, his fingers threading through her dark hair as he rested his chin atop her head, "Do not apologise, Juliet, not for this."

"But it is," And though she did not dare pull away from him at first, through the shattered tears she attempted to make him see, "The physician doth told me of her worries, she begged me to stay abed until the birth, she scolded me each day for working as I e'er have, and ne'er did I listen, and for it our child is gone, and it  _is_  my fault, it  _is,_ " Though her tears nearly blinded her, whatever strength she held finally did help her pull away from his embrace, her hands balling on the sheets of the bed as the very emotion of her message drowned her cheeks in tears regardless of Edmund's shaking head, "For it was not the first time I hath heard such words, but this, my immortality hast blinded me to what I hath lived once before; mine own mother, Edmund," she told him, and though he listened, still he tried to reach for her, "The same was said to her; for weeks the healer in our city hath told Mother to stay abed when within her she held mine brother, but ne'er did she listen. Colour began fading from her cheeks, strength leaving her limbs, and before long the tragedy befallen me came upon her, and Luca was no more; and thus with me, for already having one child, all else hath been lost from mine mind, and I have failed, our child is gone and none but I be to blame for this heartless murder."

"Murder?" Echoed Edmund, whose mind remained unchanging regardless of the previously unknown details of her life, "Juliet, this is not murder, you lost the child, yes, but you couldn't have possibly known; you couldn't have—"

"Nay, but I could have," the Queen interrupted again, crying, shaking, yet still speaking as candidly as she ever did, "For long have I lived in this and the other world to know well of what ailed mine mother then; an illness so rare that naught of it was found until doctors began searching within bodies to learn more, and for it, my heart, I fear I hath inherited such a truth: mine womb is weak, easily shattered by a birth and thus weakened evermore, and if long hath I stopped to think I couldst have protected our child, I could have rested alike Mrs. Brighton hath demanded, I could have stopped this,"

"No, Juliet,"

"And Arthur would have a brother or sister still, yet now mine own carelessness doth make of our family a small one,"

"Juliet,"

"One which for this stupidity naught another child may come and—"

"Juliet!" Edmund exclaimed then, holding his wife's cheeks softly so that the brightness of her amber eyes could meet his; his pleading expression and the security he still felt, the love that radiated from every part of his body, the truth that he soon after expelled once the silence and her gaze met him again, "I do not blame you for this," He said slowly, "No one in this country will blame you for this, and if they do they will have my sword to answer to," He paused, if anything so his words could become embedded in her mind, "So I beg you, wife, do not blame yourself either, because regardless of what you may have known about the past, there is no way you could have known how your body could have reacted after a birth you weren't even aware was possible, as it was with Arthur.

Because  _we_  didn't know, because before the news was given that you were with child, we did not even  _know_ that you could be, so please,  _please_ ," he begged, lowering his hold from her face to reach for her hands instead, "Do not blame yourself for this, because regardless of your past, of your Mother, this is  _not_ your fault; thus, yes, grieve for this one child you have lost, but remember you have another, remember and love him as you have, because we do have him, we are blessed to have him, and I do not care if he is ever the only one we ever have; I love you, you understand?" He told her, surely as he had done the very first time he had said those words, "I love you with one child, no children, or ten, I told you this ages ago, and I still think it, what matters to me is that you are here, and with Arthur, who we didn't even expect in the first place… all that matters is that you both are alright." His head shook, "…I love you, Juliet. So, please, do not blame yourself,  _please_."

And whether it was the strength of his hold, the honesty of his words or the very pain that reached through every speck of her being, Juliet could do nothing more at that moment than fall upon his arms and cry against his chest; as he held her there, breathing slowly and comforting for what he had lost as well, all the young protector could think was of the horror she had seen three days before, the realisation of what had happened, the truth she had lost, and the one she had gained. She cried for the loss of her child, the expected little thing that had grown within her and so easily left her body as if it had never been, she cried for her own stubbornness, which continued to make her mind guilty for refusing to listen to the warnings of a woman who had known better than her, she cried for Edmund, for the love he gave her without a doubt and regardless of the tragedy that had broken into their lives, she cried for Arthur, who she had almost completely ignored for the past three days because looking at him only made her think of the child she had lost—wondering how it would have looked, wondering if it would have been a girl with her long curls and Edmund's eyes, or another little boy become a perfect mix of his loving parents—, but above all, and for a few moments, she cried for the child she had not even known she had lost before, the one thought to be nothing more than dead matter rotting out of her body after a violent death, keeping it to herself for a moment longer for the very grief that drowned her for the time husband and wife remained on that bed grieving together.

Only after a while, after her tears had become slow enough to allow her to breathe and talk, after Edmund's own counted silent tears had dried upon his cheeks, did Juliet speak again, "There was another," she said, softly against the silence that had overtaken them before; and because the single sentence was not entirely clear and had therefore made Edmund's frame freeze against the soothing movement of his hand on her back, the Italian forced herself to move away from him, enough so that she could look into his eyes, but not enough that his hands would fall away from her, "Another child," she continued, "This… 'tis not the first child I lose, though I failed to know it until I hath lost… until three days ago."

"What are you talking about?" Edmund wondered; a deep frown present on his features as he pushed some locks of her hair behind her ear.

"It…" She tried, forcing a breath deep into her chest; because regardless of how much she would rather grieve for that unknown child on her own—to keep her darling husband unaware of the very thing that had shaken her world entirely—for the sake of the bond they both had, and for the lack of secrets between each other, she had to gulp, lift her broken gaze onto his own grieving one and simply tell the truth, "Do… dost thou remember the death—the assassins, how… how thy family took care of me as I healed, and—"

"Yes, of course. Of course I remember," Edmund said, "They thought you wouldn't come back, but Lucy and I—"

"Aye; aye, indeed, mine heart, it… 'twas then," Juliet nodded, gulping down the noose of her sorrow for the sake of speaking what she had been unable to say even to herself since it had happened; she'd seen it in her dreams, that forgotten child, she'd seen it every time she blinked, the horror of the blood and matter she had been sure had been her body coming back to life, she remembered the pain with every breath she took, she… she had to speak else the worry she could recognise in Edmund's eyes would be worse, "I had been feeling… odd long prior to the attack, ne'er once able to keep food down, gaining weight, wishing none but green apples for all meals…" Edmund understood, so he nodded; for those had been exactly the same sort of symptoms that had come upon her when she had been pregnant with Arthur and the newly lost child, "But naught a thought of a child came into mine head for I knew, I—or, well, I thought I knew that I couldst ne'er bear any children, but… on that first day I was able to stand, when thou all but forced me to stay abed, that was the day it… I felt the same… the-the pain alike I hath felt this time, which then I all but blamed on mine injuries, but there was blood, too, and it all went so fast… and I ne'er thought… I couldn't…—" Her head shook; but once again the heaviness against her chest made it so she simply couldn't speak again.

But it was Edmund who picked up the words she could not force out of her lips, "Your dying killed this child," he breathed, "but since you didn't know you could have kids, then you didn't understand that you were even pregnant to begin with…" Juliet's head bobbed in a nod, the tears once again falling mightily against the softness of her cheeks, and why not? She had not acknowledged this child, not out loud, and now… "This was before we got married, Juliet, I… I'm so sorry… If I'd known…"

At least to such a reaction the weeping girl began to shake her head, "Nay, dare not beg mine forgiveness when 'twas both of us who chose to lay together in love with naught a worry for the truth that I could not carry life within me."

"But if we had been unable to marry, if you'd had this baby—"

"Nay, _if_  worketh not for us, for it was not and life has moved forward, and though aye mine life would have been different if this child had come, if I had not—" She had to gulp, pause shortly for the sake of her own sanity and breathe, because that word, that single word… she couldn't say it anymore, not again, not without fully breaking apart in his arms, "We  _are_ married, and we have Arthur, so aye, like thou hath said, let us grieve for them, for our inability to have known that I hath… that I hath lost a child before, alike I have done now, let us grieve and mind none else, for ne'er do I blame thee, and if thou blamest me not, then I beg of thee, my heart, then hold me and let us grieve; for I hath not said a thing to blame but so thou knewest of a truth that was: that I have born thee three children of which only one has lived, so that thou might grieve with me, and lay blame to naught if thou doth wish it, I beg thee, Edmund, I beg."

And she could speak no longer; alike moments before the acknowledgement of her losses has broken her, and though Edmund easily pulled her close against his chest and comforted her as much as she had attempted to comfort him, there was not a word other than, "You're right, I'm sorry; I'm sorry," that could leave his lips before his head began to burry on the prettiness of her hair; and so they remained. Only a week prior he had thought that King Lune had failed to kill all those he loved but one in his attempt at assassination, and at that moment, guilty as he felt he knew not what to think; should he hate him for the child he had killed, one that Edmund hadn't even known had existed until then nor thought to have wanted and definitely would have been too young to have to take care of, or should he force the guilt away from the relief that he did not have to worry about that now? May Aslan forgive him, but he thought he  _was_ glad, because now he had Juliet for the love he felt for her instead of the obligation he was sure honour would have made him take her for, if they had married for such a reason surely he would have forever wondered if his love was real or forced; and what of the child? What would he have done? What sort of father would he have been? Would he have agreed so fully to claim his role as a father like he had done for Arthur upon his birth?

Guilt for his inability to have been by her side drowned him for the millionth time, and this time the culpability of his own thoughts joined the tempest that dared bring nothing other than tears from his eyes; he had been wrong to even think those things because he had known he loved her long before she had died, regardless of if only then had he been able to face it, he had known that he had wished to spend the rest of his life with her, he had known that he did not care if they had heirs or not, he had known that all he had wished for, ever, had been to be able to have her by his side if she would have him; so if she had had that child he would have loved it just as much as he loved Arthur, he would have demanded to be his father, he would have loved, encouraged, and stood by Juliet's side the way he did now, and thus the truth remained: he loved her, and he did wish to grieve a life that had not been able to come. Though he knew she was right and no  _if_ scenarios should be acknowledged, the guilt of his own conscience only made him hold her closer still, "I'm sorry," he repeated, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." And though Juliet could not have possibly known exactly why his apologies came, the tears they both shed became enough to leave her breathless and exhausted.

Whether they had lost one, or two, or had never been able to have a child, the two lovers lay broken in one another's arms that night, and nothing, not even the return of Peter Pevensie the next day could stop them from remaining alone for the next two, with no one bur Arthur allowed to step into the room, so they could be a family grieving for those they had lost together, even if one did not know the extent of his loss.


	57. Chapter 57

─ ♚ ─

The tragedy of the loss of The Just monarchs' child was one that resounded in the country for many weeks, and for it ambassadors from different cities of Narnia and allied realms began to find their way into Cair Paravel with calls of condolences that were as publically welcome by the Pevensies as they were privately loathed by Edmund and Juliet themselves; it was a befallen loss that would not be allowed to be forgotten or set behind in such a way that even when Juliet Capulet fell pregnant once again three months later not many people within the castle dared congratulate her or the King, and instead began showing their worry for a second miscarriage by way of telling the young Queen to be careful with what she ate, how much she worked, and any small sort of illness that could take over her health. It was not enough that she kept the physician quite close this time, nor indeed that from the very moment she had known she had been pregnant again she had silently cursed her fertility for the lack of readiness she held within her heart for the possibility of losing another child, still those guests and Ladies in the castle thought it well to remind her that the possibility of a loss was there; as if she could ever forget, as if the loss of two children already (one which they had kept secret to anyone other than the family) weren't enough to remind her exactly how weak her flesh was, how cursed she had been with the inheritance she had been bequeathed, as if the short time she had had to mourn had been enough .

Indeed, she had cried again the day the news became evident, and when her husband had slipped into the room the truth of her own sorrow left her lips: "I'm not strong enough," even her limbs trembled as if to prove the very words she spoke, "If I lose this child I will be lost, 'tis too soon, mine weak heart couldst ne'er take it," she pleaded, "Oh, how and wherefore must I love you so? Were that I could loathe thee so I could wish to ne'er lay a hand on thee again, but aye, I am blessed by thy love, and this mine heart 'tis yours, and I love thee so that I will ne'er wish for anyone but thee."

Happy as he was to be so loved, and flattered as he was to be so desirable, Edmund Pevensie still managed to feel guilty; for her curse befell them both, as the very same intentions claimed his heart: he loved her, he knew he would never wish for anyone else, and he knew, regardless of how much he tried to stay away from her, that he would always desire her as much as she apparently did him. For once he had been unable to know what to say other than the very things he had thought with a single "I love you," and may that horrible curse take them both simply because the love they felt for each other could not be fought against, nor would they want it to be.

And so all they could do was hope, hope and pray whilst Juliet took special care of herself and decidedly worked much less than she would have liked; for nearly three months that pregnancy was the only thing anyone in the castle talked about, and it made the two parents anxious. Not once had the same been done when Arthur had been expected, for the two had been left to their own devices to live and work as any other day and only hovered over when the birth had begun, yet now? Susan had become a shadow by Juliet's side alongside the physician, everyone who wished to speak to the Soft Queen refused to either mention her pregnancy or even look at her stomach as if she had been diagnosed with a terminal illness instead of something so joyous as a pregnancy, and neither Peter nor Lucy could pass one single day without asking Edmund or Juliet herself how everything was going with her  _condition_ ; tiring as it was it was also well annoying, and so it was absolutely no surprise that both lovers were more than perfectly happy to be overlooked when, one day at the nearing end of the new year's celebrations the entirety of the castle and even the country were moved by a brand new set of news that became the main subject spoken by anyone's lips from the inside of the castle to the furthest little beaver dam at the edge of all Narnian grounds.

It all started during the Monday breakfast of that long expected week at the end of which the grand New Year's celebration's end would take place, when Peter, Susan, Lucy, Athena, Juliet, Edmund, Princess Juno, Peridan and little Arthur were joined by a familiar face that they had long thought of as a friend: Duke Lark of Archenland; it was a surprise so beautifully welcome over the many times they had attempted to convince the Duke to join them for every meal, that it immediately had every person there smiling and exclaiming relief as each one of them sat around the table that, for once, seemed to be almost full. The sun outside did not warm as it did in summer, nor did the windows remain open, but the fires of the chimneys alongside the company kept made the place feel as warm as if the fields outside were not covered in the frosty white of the winter snow, and at last one breakfast conversation did not at all begin with anyone's wondering over Juliet Capulet's well being, "I wonder what at last made you join us," Peter Pevensie said as he reached for the bowl of fruit that he would always set first on his plate, "I was beginning to think you were not as fond of us as we are of you."

And though the joke brought a smile onto the lips of the curly haired ambassador, the redness on his cheeks became enough to accompany his reply, "I apologise if I ever made you feel like that, King Peter, I hold you and your family close to my heart, though I did not feel I was worthy of pretending I was part of the family alike my cousin has become."

"Oh, yes, she is as good as  _our_ cousin too, aren't you, Juno?" Lucy mused as she nudged the pretty princess at her side regardless of how she had been reaching for a piece of bread from the middle of the table.

Yet even though the Archen princess' agreement and thanks left her lips—not for anything she had refused to return to Archenland regardless of if Prince Corin had decided to remain—it was the curious High King that spoke again through the smile on his lips, "What made you finally realise you  _were_ worthy?"

"I believe that is my fault…" Came the answer from the opposite side of the table, not from where it had been expected at all; and so everyone turned in that direction to look at a surprisingly blushing Susan, whose hands hovered over her cutlery as if she were too scared to pick them up. "I…" Her eyes fell on the green eyed Duke with the short apology perfectly written in the ocean of her gaze, "I was going to wait until the end of breakfast to tell them, but—"

"Tell us what?" Edmund wondered as the Duke bobbed his head in a forgiving nod, passing a piece of chopped fluorescent Sundust fruit to Arthur, who sat on his lap completely oblivious to the conversation.

With the Duke looking down onto his empty plate and everyone overly anticipating things around her, Susan swiftly confessed "Lark has asked me to marry him," even her hands settled on the edge of the table. "And I've said yes."

Almost immediately the room broke into sound; from the excited echoes of Lucy, Juno and Juliet's voices to the shocked ones that began with Athena's smiling congratulations and a couple of questions fired from Edmund and Peter in such a mixed way that not more than a loud "What?!" from one end of the table and a " _That's_  where you been sneaking off to in the middle of the night?!" from the other could be set apart from the rest; though after a couple of wild moments, finally one of the exclamations was unable to be ignored, "I didn't even know you were courting." It was Peter, whose smile would have been able to make everyone overlook his frown of confusion if it weren't for his words.

"And well you shouldn't," Susan replied, finally relieved of her news to be able to begin filling her plate, "Because we weren't, not really; it was only a dalliance at first, one which we kept mostly through correspondence until he came to live here with Juno, which is when—"

"It's been going on for  _that_ long?!" Edmund exclaimed.

"Honestly, what's with this family and secret romances?" Peter continued regardless of the smile across his lips, "Please, Lucy, if you have something to confess…"

The youngest Queen lifted her hands by the sides of her shaking head, "Don't look at me," she told her brother and all the others who had turned to look at her, though she smiled. "The only secret romance I have is with books and the forests of Narnia, and since everyone seems to know of it maybe it's not so secret after all."

"But, how?" Juliet wondered as she reached beside her to clean Arthur's lips with a napkin, "Thou hath looked so smitten by young Rabadash when he hath been here, all were sure you would accept  _his_ proposal."

Though Susan's head shook as she swallowed a bite of food and Duke Lark's eyes fell to the plate he had begun to slowly fill, it was Edmund's voice beside her that replied to those words, "Thank the Lion she did not, imagine having someone like Rabadash The Ridiculous as a Narnian King,"

But as the snort of amusement from the king went on ignored, Susan answered once again, "It was difficult, having to pretend, but… Narnia needed me, which is the only reason I did speak with so many of prospects of marriage; if anything it was the Prince's proposal and all we learnt thereafter that made me realise my heart was already claimed in such a way that could not be ignored, not unless I wished to be miserable for the rest of my life."

Lucy released a soft dreaming breath, "How romantic."

"You'd think," Duke Lark said, finally speaking after the truth of his acceptance had become evident through the expressions of all those around the table, "But I had to use this newly re-forged active peace with Archenland to be able to convince your sister that our marriage could bring advantage to the country as well."

"Oh, no, Susan," said Lucy with some sort of disappointment as her hands fell to her abandoned cutlery and her eyes fell heavy on the Queen's, "You made this political?"

"We set rules, Lu. We decided no more marriages would be simply for our own sakes, but for the country's, and—"

"Excuse you, Athena and Juliet bring great advantages to the country, thank you very much," Edmund interrupted as he began splitting another Sundust fruit to feed himself and his son, who munched on one small piece already, his fingers filling with purple juice, "Just because Peter and I happened to fall in love  _before_  those advantages were evidently told to us it doesn't mean our marriages weren't for advantage, too."

"Hm, great to know I'm an advantage; thanks, Ed." Athena said through a smirk before she popped a grape into her mouth.

Of course the youngest King only replied with a roll of his eyes, but Duke Lark almost shyly continued with his tale, "The point is, I knew I wanted to marry Susan the second she agreed to dance with me during that fateful Winter Ball in which your engagement to the princess came to an end," that, at least, he directed to King Peter, but the rest continued on for all who happily listened around the table, "But as I got to know her I realised there was absolutely no way she would agree to be my wife because, other than the love I had for her, I could bring her no alliance or treaty, or anything that would make her think that she had not failed the country by choosing someone simply for love; so I accepted what she would give, which was a romance with a limit set on the day an alliance would come from a proposal so good she could not refuse. I was almost sure this prince Rabadash would have been the one, but…" A single shoulder lifted in a relieved shrug.

Almost for the first time, Princess Juno spoke with an echo of understanding, "So that's why you were so happy when the King and Queen returned from Tashbaan without an accepted proposal," even a small happy scoffed breath left from her smiling lips, "No wonder you were so angry during the time he was here."

"Yes, well," Queen Susan said as she cut into the mushrooms on her plate, blushing so wonderfully that at least some sort of guilt could be evident on her expression, "I believe I fooled everyone, even myself, into thinking I held any sort of admiration for the man."

King Edmund snorted, "I think that is an understatement, sister."

" _But_  it worked for the best, didn't it?" Lucy mused, smiling contentedly as she served herself some juice made of the fruit of the toffee tree, "If you hadn't thought you liked the foreign prince enough to marry him then you never would have gone to his city, and then he never would have had reason to attempt an attack on Archenland, and this active peace Lark says allowed him the solution to his hopes and dreams never would have come to be."

"Indeed," the Duke agreed, looking in Susan's direction with the sort of open affection he had not dared show before, "I was able to speak to my cousin about my issue and, within his newfound happiness of not only having both of his sons back with him but the active peace with Narnia, he wrote and signed the very piece of paper that finally allowed me to give my most precious Queen the alliance that would make her accept my hand without guilt."

"It's on the same terms as the treaty of Beruna;" Susan informed them, no longer bothering to hide the smile that came from the words the Duke spoke, "The trading, the reinforcing, the allowance for both Narnians and Archenlanders to live wherever they wish within the borders of both countries…" She set her cutlery down as she looked around the table at the faces of all her family, lighter, at last, than the long years she had thought she would have to give up her heart for the good of the country, "Only instead of your marriage to Juno, Peter, it is my marriage to Lark that will seal the treaty," she turned to look at her older brother with that small smile upon the fullness of her lips, "All we have to do is sign the parchment and it is settled… it is in my private cabinet."

"And you want this?" Peter asked her, hopeful at last for the very peace he had been unable to be a part of, "You love Lark, truly?"

Without even a speck of doubt, the Gentle Queen looked in the Duke's direction, and nodded, "With all my heart."

And in truth, Peter, and everyone else sitting around that table, cared about nothing more than that, "Then we will sign after breakfast," the High King announced, reaching for a piece of bread with the finality that carried his joyful gaze in the direction of their Archen friend, "Welcome to the family, Lark."

It was the first treaty parchment that every single one of the Kings and Queens did not feel guilty in signing, with smiles adorning their features as they did, and the hopes of the happiness of the oldest Queen as they had been almost worrying for much longer than any of them would admit; and so it was that the news were announced to the realm with joyous welcome at the end of that week and the beginning of the preparations came to take place. At last, Queen Susan began to prepare everything for her own wedding with the same sort of enthusiasm she had given to the two previous weddings or any Christmas or birthday celebration that had been enjoyed throughout the years, though, of course Juliet, who as Head of Household remained by the Queen's side to make sure every single thing she wished for was not only doable but done with the precision she was known for, could perfectly see the excited softness that lit Susan's features when any question demanding of colours or details were left for her to decide, because, indeed, it was her wedding, so none other than her and Duke's decisions could matter in the end.

It was thus, with everyone's eyes focused only on the coming wedding, that the months began to pass around Cair Paravel; the seasons changed, Arthur Pevensie began to walk, and even run around the halls of the castle, and his mother continued on growing with the life that proved strong enough that eventually all questions about her well being came to be forgotten for the very important distraction brought forth strongly through the engagement of the oldest Queen, whose light shone brighter than it ever had as the date of her wedding became closer and closer. Such distractions and joy that almost entirely blinded everyone in the castle in such a way that when Queen Juliet's helping hand disappeared, not many other than the royal family noticed the severity of the truth; the Summer winds made the trees outside dance, the dryads happy to lead the beauty of the warmest season into everyone's hearts, and everyone else who worked under Juliet had been told to follow the lead of Lucy's hand in such a natural way that not a single worry made a frown appear within the workers' features. But a darker truth rested within the most private parts of the castle, where upon the eight month of her pregnancy, Queen Juliet went into swift labour with the hopes of bringing another little life into the world; a life that could not come to be when the end of the arduous act of giving birth revealed a truth that neither Edmund or Juliet had been able to consider or predict at all: their second son had been born dead.

Indeed, after Juliet had passed the fourth month of her pregnancy as healthily as she had been when she had been pregnant with Arthur, neither of the loving parents had thought anything could have been wrong at all; but their hopes were stolen from them much more slowly than the previous time, for Edmund had been by her side, holding her hand and accepting every curse of pain from her lips that fell his way with a hope so beautiful that it even had made him smile, all with stolen dreams to come thereafter when her pain came to an end and not a single cry escaped from the second Pevensie Prince's lips at all. After that day, both King and Queen mourned their loss as quietly as they could, unwilling even in their grief to make the eyes of the country turn away from Queen Susan in the time of her biggest joy; and so unlike the previous lost child, the news of this one's death became nothing but a rumour spoken from the day Queen Juliet began helping around the castle once again, from the lips of workers that refused to say a word to their Queen to those of the people in the village where the workers of Cair Paravel would go to buy food, and other resources. Only whispers made the death of Henry Franco Pevensie known at all, and thus the names of both Edmund and Juliet's fathers were buried silently within their hearts once more.

And so the months went on, with the silent sorrow of two lovers, and the hopeful joy of the wedding that would bring new things to the country as a whole; it was a thing that came as a blessing for the time Juliet had to spend upon it, unable to think of anything but Edmund, Arthur, and the coming wedding until she rested in her bed with shed tears and shadowed eyes and the passing time dried such sorrows with enough strength that she was able to press it to another part of her mind where she had left the sorrow for her previous two lost children. Everything within her day was the settling of guest rooms, the preparing of the settling Great Hall, the guest list and where every invited would sit, the colour of Susan's dress and Lark's garments, the faded paper to be placed upon the windows for the sake of the matching hues; and with the arrival of the winter the time for celebration came again when only days remained for the long expected wedding. Those last days brought the celebration of the end of Susan's loneliness, with the girls gathered round in the Southern wing and the boys in the Northern, where Duke Lark resided; and by the time the wedding came, young Juliet had no time left to focus on the deeper mourning she had pushed back, for without expectancy yet not without reason, she began to be ill almost every morning and crave for green apples once again.

And so the wedding was joyous, with shades of purple and green adorning all decorations as everyone watched Queen Susan and Duke Lark promising the vows heard twice before, with King Lune present without secret alongside Corin and Cor, and therefore bringing forth one of the loudest and most wonderful celebrations in the realm since the High King's wedding, so that when four days later the Duke was crowned King Lark of Narnia, The Gentle by marriage to Queen Susan, and The Stranger by the will of the realm, he was perfectly welcome with open arms, smiling lips, and glad tidings sent from any who had attended or even heard of the wedding. Susan had looked radiant in both her wedding and her husband's coronation, clad in purple silk and velvet with the golden halo of flowers and leaves that made up her crown perfectly settled upon her long dark locks; and Lark, who had perfectly accepted and wished for the same sort of deal that Juliet and Athena had demanded, dressed in green hues so beautiful that they made the same colour of his eyes shine specially brightly, humbly accepted and was crowned with a beautiful golden halo that months before had appeared within the treasury room, adoring of golden leaves to match Susan's own and the very Archenlander flower carved in gold that had made his country famous.

Thus it was that when the announcement of Juliet's fourth pregnancy came, the realm rejoiced, nearly forgotten of the previous loss over the happiness brought forth by the Gentle Queen's wedding, for in its Golden Age it held the warmth of family so true with seven monarchs to love, one happy prince running about the grounds, and a second prince or princess to come if Aslan willed it; no one other than Juliet and Edmund rested worried for the well being of the coming child, but oh was it expected with an open heart.

And the peace so found in the realm brought a tangible happiness that would be remembered until the end of time.


	58. Chapter 58

─ ♚ ─

Indeed, peace ruled upon the realm, from the furthest corners of Narnia to the southernmost edges of Archenland, during the next few months the two countries became the strongest upon that side of the world, making the written words of what had been called  _The Treaty of Devotion—_ settled in stone once the wedding between Susan and Lark had come to pass—the perfect ones to unify two equally strong countries to make of them a force to be reckoned with; it was for that reason exactly why many nobles from Ettinsmoor, Calormene, The Lone Islands and even places so far as Telmar began to show their faces more often in both realms. The visits of King Lune to Cair Paravel became common as well, for the man had been publically forgiven and not long after even became a friend as beloved as Juno herself; of course, it was not to say at all that everyone had forgotten the many creatures that had died in the wars brought forth by Lune himself, but alike the realm's forgiveness for their most Just King, the one given to the neighbouring monarch spread from home to home until those that did not care to hold anything but disdain for him could be counted with one hand.

It was in fact in one of those visits, quite a few months after the glorious wedding that had brought hope to the realm, that the robust King had travelled with only a couple of guards to the great castle on the hill directly in search of King Edmund, who at the time had been playing in the gardens with a very heavily pregnant Juliet and their smiling brown haired son, Arthur. "Ah, Edmund!" The King had said, his arms lifting in what clearly attempted to be excitement to see the youngest King again.

Of course, given that both monarchs had been entirely too attuned to their game with Arthur, it hadn't really been until the call of his name that either Edmund  _or_ Juliet looked in that direction, "Lune," Edmund had said almost at once, even as a smile lifted his lips and he moved to walk in his direction for the short embrace that surely had been intended for the raised arms. "What brings you here?" And though Juliet called for little Arthur behind him so she could pick him up in her arms and hold him close even with that giant swell of her stomach, the King went on, "Is everything alright?"

"Aye, aye, all is well," the King began; smiling in Juliet's direction by the time she joined her husband in his welcome, and thus directing his words to both Just monarchs, "I have come only as a friend, to warn you of what I have stopped from happening in my realm so that you may be careful in yours."

"What are you talking about?" Edmund wondered with a frown, "Peace rules the land."

"And so it shall remain, my friend," Lune agreed, reaching to hold Arthur's hand, which had reached in his direction to accompany the smile on the child's lips, "It is not those within the land that you must worry about, but those who will come." He paused, if only so he could look directly into the King's eyes for the sake of his news, "I had a wild visitor from our friends in the South, in the name of their so called  _new_ King."

"Then we must tell Peter; Susan and Lucy, they need to know, too."

"This envoy will not come for them," the Archen king said before Edmund could even think of walking away with the very purpose he had spoken, "Not if he does the same thing he attempted with me, for you are the only King of Narnia that has a child."

"And what the hell would Ettinsmoor want with Arthur?" Edmund demanded as a frown invaded his forehead and one of his hands lifted to rest protectively on his son, almost as if some sort of danger had come already and could attempt taking the boy from him.

It was such an automatic gesture that the older King could not help but smile, "Well, you and I both know they have attempted to take us both by force a number of times—"

"And they have failed," Juliet interrupted, holding onto her son as protectively as her husband had reached for him, "An equal amount of times."

"Indeed, my lady." King Lune agreed, "It is so; but it appears they have come to find out that war is not the only way to take over a country," He turned to look at Edmund once again, "An ambassador of this so called King came to me only two days prior; great pump and circumstance that he carried, only to audaciously offer me the hand of the King's ten year old daughter in marriage for Cor. Wisely, I refused, bringing up my past with Narnia as an excuse that I no longer trust marriages based on alliance, but—" The robust king's hand rose, meaning to stop the words that so unsurprisingly had begun to part the Just King's lips, which obviously would not be great ones if he could judge by the frown that had shadowed his eyes, "It was not but a ruse, for you know, my friend, that we have all put such things behind us; it was a lie that I had to speak so that my suspicion might not be noted, and it is that suspicion which brings me here."

It took a couple of beats for the young King to relax, but with no more than a step closer to Juliet and the rising of both his arms to cross upon his chest, Edmund nodded, "Go on," if only for the sake of the clear trouble that had already begun forming in the middle of his mind.

"The years have called the giants and those people that live with them fools, but I do not think they are," Lune continued, relaxing almost as much as he had been upon his arrival to what, to him, had become a familiar place, "I think that they have  _learnt_  they cannot defeat either Narnia or Archenland by mere force, and for it they will try to defeat us by another way, a peaceful way that carefully could end up working on their favour: marriage, to overcome the countries from the inside. Because I ask you… other than an alliance for peace, which King Peter has already given them by naming a King of their own to rule over them, what other purpose could an arranged marriage have?"

The painting in his head was becoming darker and darker by the second, "And you think this ambassador might come and…" his voice trailed off as the short nod of the older King confirmed what he understood; he looked horrified, he was sure, and how could he not when the very thought of having to give his son away tore at the strings of his heart? Not to mention, "But this is barbaric, Arthur is only about to turn three; and this girl… ten, you said? What sort of monster would—"

"Oh, no. No, no, my friend," Lune began, his hands shaking and a smile overcoming his otherwise thin lips, "No, even Ettinsmoor are not that beastly, no. If I am right in suspecting this, this ambassador would offer you the same he offered me: to make a ward of this Princess, so she might grow accustomed to her future husband, so they may like each other, and when their ages prove right,  _both_  of their ages, to marry, as per the agreement." He paused, shortly waving his hands, "But it should not matter, my friend, their ends are not of peace, I assure you that; I have declined their offer, and I'm almost even willing to beg you do the same when this ambassador comes, for the sake of the peace we have funded between our realms, or if not for that, then for the sake of Narnia's safety, which I have grown to care for, for as much as the one of my own country."

Edmund hadn't even known what to think; there was absolutely no question that the offer would be declined regardless of who it came from, and he was sure, if he could judge by the frown in the middle of Juliet's forehead, that his own thoughts were perfectly mirrored in her mind: it was entirely much too soon to even begin thinking of marriage for him who, regardless of the life she carried within her at that moment, could be their only son. Thus, he had to gulp once for the mere emotion driven into the depths of his heart at such a thought as Arthur's marriage, and turn to the older King once more, nodding softly with the very thanks written silently in the middle of his eyes as much as his last question: "How sure are you that this ambassador might show his face in Cair Paravel?"

With relief spread upon his expression, Lune confessed, "Almost as sure as I am that Cor might already have someone in mind to call his Queen when I leave this world."

And though it would not be until years later that Lune's suspicion of his recovered son would come true when he married Aravis Tarkeena of Tashbaan, the issue of the ambassador came to be almost as if the King had been a prophet come to tell Edmund of the future, for only three weeks later and with absolutely horrid timing, the expected man came into the castle hoping to talk to the Just King. Nothing but a joyous chaos was found within the castle, as it had from the beginning of that morning when a little shriek of recognition had come from the terrified lips of the soft queen, who, only a week earlier than scheduled, had gone into labour and therefore had the western side of the castle almost in complete ruckus; from Mrs. Brighton, who had begun barking orders at those around her the moment she was informed of Juliet's waters breaking, to even Queen Susan who had begun preparing the bedroom with the help of Juliet's maids swiftly enough that if anyone had been able to look at the action from the same point of view of a little bird who flew away from the highest window, the inside of Cair Paravel could easily have been confused by a bee hive.

Of course, for the first few hours of that day Edmund had stayed by his wife's side, helping with whatever he could and simply holding her hand when the familiar pains doubled her over in such a way that it even made his own lips press in a tight line of worry as much for the agony suffered as for the result of what the end of her delivery could bring; yet only a couple of hours after, in the afternoon, there came the messenger from the main doors carrying the news of a strange man from Ettinsmoor begging to speak with him, even demanding. At first all Edmund had wanted to do was cuss at anyone who would dare pull him away from such a moment at Juliet's side, but in the end it was the girl herself who basically pushed the king away from the room telling him to deal with the stranger and whatever business he brought with him, "Hear me now, Edmund Pevensie, that if thou doth refuse to go, I shall not stop myself from breaking thy hand along this process, I speak true!" Granted, the echoes of her warning had come accompanied by a near agonising splitting pain upon her hips, but even if it had not her tone was not one unknown to him, for it had come many other times in such hotheadedness that so made her completely dear to him; of course, there was no way he could possibly have known that the reason she had sent him away had been for the simple truth that she knew she would not be able to look into his eyes if she failed to give him a living child again, but still, he went, spitting out orders at those who would listen to come get him the second the child came, regardless of who he was with or if his door was closed.

Where usually he would deal with strangers in the main meeting room at the Northern side of the castle, this time the youngest King demanded the stranger be brought to his personal library, for no other reason than it was only around the corner of the room he shared with Juliet and could therefore be easily reachable with any news that may need be given to him. And so it was there, sitting on the chair opposite his own, and looking about at the many books and trinkets spilled over the desk in the public side of his library, that Edmund found the ambassador of Ettinsmoor, wearing a brown robe that reminded him of monks in a dream and appearing much bigger than any person he had ever met as he sat the way an adult might sit upon a chair made for a child.

And he wasn't even half the size of a true giant.

Edmund cleared his throat, and closed the door of his library behind him, finally making the stranger look at him with expectant eyes, "My messenger tells me your name is Vithelstan," he said, forcing his ears to deafen against the faded screams of his wife only a few rooms away, "As you can probably tell you have come at a rather difficult time, and I assure you that if it were  _not_ for my wife's wish I would have made you wait for as long as it took for her to deliver our child, so you will excuse my lack of diplomacy as I ask you plainly: what is it that brings you here, so boldly demanding to speak to me?"

It would be ridiculous to think of a man much bigger than Edmund himself looking shaken and apologetic in his direction, but that was exactly the sight the King had to behold as he moved to sit upon his own chair, "I-I do beg your pardon, your majesty," the ambassador said, clutching at his robes in a way that only made Edmund think of Juliet again;  _is this what Ettinsmoor sends me to beg for the hand of my son?_ He thought, loosely remembering King Lune's words and crossing his arms as the man spoke again, "I was not told your wife was—"

"Well, I have told you," Edmund interrupted regardless of the rudeness that spilled from his lips, "But I am here now, so I tell you, sir, speak; what brings you here, taking me from my wife's side and demanding a word with  _me_ when my brother and younger sister sit free on their chairs?"

"W-well," the big man stuttered, shifting on his already small-looking chair and clearing his throat, "With all the respect deserved to you, King Edmund, not your brother, the High King, nor your sister would have been able to deal with me in such matters, for, unless I am mistaken, you are, your majesty, the only one of the reigning monarchs in Narnia that has a son."

So it was true; the very warnings of King Lune come weeks prior were playing out perfectly in front of him and all he wanted was to send this ambassador flying in the least diplomatic way so he could no longer be away from the very birth that had begun echoing faded screams more often than before. He could tell the other counted on his ignorance, his game was written plainly on his eyes; and even the sort of innocence and shakiness he showed suddenly seemed feigned,  _do you know who you're dealing with at all?_  "What of my son?" Edmund asked regardless of how much faster everything would have gone if he had told him he knew exactly what he expected and he could go try with some other King; yet not one muscle moved in any way to show the very doubt and annoyance that he felt deep within his heart; if Ettinsmoor wanted to play the game, let them play.

"As you know, sir, your brother, the High King, settled a peace within both our realms by crowning our leader, and because of such a thing, my King has seen it fit, as thanks, to come to you with an offer of marriage as a way to seal the peace gifted so kindly by your hand."

"I don't follow," the young King feigned.

Was that a cunning glint he saw shining in the eyes of the ambassador? "Well, I know not if this has been disclosed to you, King, but my sire has a daughter," she paused, smiling almost as if he had just revealed an astonishing thing, as if he expected Edmund to react as such. When no reaction came, his disappointment showed by the short release of a breath, "she is only the tender age of ten, and thus a well enough aged difference set between her and your little boy; three, is he not?"

"He is, yes, and thus, you must agree much too young to be speaking of engagements for him at this moment," Edmund tested.

Vithelstan swiftly back-tracked, "Oh, of course; of course, your majesty, you must believe me: I did not mean to set the engagement written in parchment upon this day." He even had the audacity to feign a nervous laughter.

"Good, good," the young King said, smiling appropriately, "Else, it would not be my offence you would have to worry about, for I am as Just as the title I carry, and thus am I patient, but my wife's anger…" And as if to emphasise the meaning of his words, the echoes of Juliet's painful screaming reached the confines of the library once more.

Whether he was exaggerating or not, the fiery hot-headed personality of Juliet Capulet was one known to more than just him, and so Edmund had the satisfaction of seeing a short gulp move the big man's throat in the first genuine reaction he had seen of him since he had entered the room, "I wouldn't dare, your majesty, I assure you. Please, allow me to explain."

In the end every single think King Lune had told Edmund the ambassador would say came to be; with a pretence perfectly placed upon his features, the man spoke to him about the possibilities of this little alliance, where young Judith would live in Cair Paravel as a ward to the Pevensies until both she and Arthur were of a proper age to marry,  _surely_ , Edmund thought,  _encouraged to listen in to every little thing that was said, planned, and agreed with other countries in the process._  The details came rolling of the ambassador's tongue like they had never before been said, practiced, yes, but not overused; he even went so far as to state his hope that perhaps, with the two betrothed growing up together regardless of the age difference, a sort of romance or at least friendship could brew in such a way that it would make the marriage that much stronger. But what then? Indeed, if the Archen King had not come to tell Edmund of the possibilities or his suspicions, then he simply would not even know what to make of the situation that presented upon him; yes, he would definitely not have been fooled into thinking that every single detail spoken to him was given with the purest of intentions—it didn't take a genius to see the perfect act placed and performed by the man in front of him—but he also simply wouldn't be able to put his finger on exactly why that was. And thus, after every single word had been said for an explanation, simply for the small speck of doubt the young King held within his heart, he had no will to do anything but ask: "And what exactly does Ettinsmoor expect in return for this betrothal?"

He almost entirely hated seeing the small relief and satisfaction printed in Vithelstan's features, "Nothing, king." He said, "Nothing but your support on the years to come, for this is meant to be a thanks, a gift, one spoken only to you who has given us a King for ourselves."

"Spoken only to me, you say." Edmund caught, willing the dance to come to an end already for the far away silence that had become much too prominent to his ears; when the ambassador nodded, he continued, "Tell me, Lord Vithelstan, you are the sole ambassador of Ettinsmoor, are you not?"

"I am, yes." The other responded in confusion.

"And, as ambassador," Edmund went on, leaning against his desk with his hands clasped together, "I wonder, do you keep up with the existing alliances of Ettinsmoor's neighbouring countries?"

"I… I try, your majesty, yes."

"Hm… then surely, you heard of the alliance formed through the marriage of my oldest sister and the Duke of Archenland."

Suddenly, the ambassador seemed nervous, "Y-yes, your majesty, I did."

"Ah, good," Edmund even dared smile, "Then I am sure you and your King are aware exactly of what this alliance brought between us, right?" The silence felt heavy, though to Edmund it felt like a sword and shield against the man who, regardless of his size, suddenly looked much smaller, "No? Well, then please, allow me to enlighten you. This alliance means Archenland and Narnia have never been closer, we support one another in wars, we attend important events for each other, but above all, we communicate—sit down or I will call in my guards and you will not be able to leave Narnia as a free man." Indeed, the man had begun to rise from his seat, surely expecting to run from the very action he had been caught in, but at the harsh tone of the Just King's voice, regardless of how even crouched he had to look down at him, the man forced his body to lower back onto the chair. "I am sure you will not mind if I assume you already know what I mean to say, seeing as how you would rather flee; but I will say it nonetheless: you are right, King Lune himself came to me to speak of this same deal you so claim has only been spoken to me, every single detail, just as you said it, and—"

"He-he lied; it was he who has made an alliance with Ettinsmoor already, king, he sent me here himself to try and overthrow you, he will fight—"

"DON'T YOU DARE spit any more slander in front of me, Vithelstan," Edmund exclaimed, slamming a hand on his desk and rising from his chair at once, truly shocked at the audacity of the man before him, yet satisfied by the flinch that had moved him, "Do you think I am a fool? I am Edmund Pevensie, Head of Justice of Narnia, I have dealt with more liars than you can imagine, and you,  _friend_ have chosen the wrong King to try to fool." His lips had parted once again, and he didn't even realise he had begun leaning in his direction on the desk until he had to stand straight again regardless of all else he had meant to say when a loud knock came from the door, "Come in." he said instead, even if one of his hands had fallen to the hilt of his sword in case the ambassador tried to flee again.

It was one of Juliet's maids who opened the door, her once white apron almost entirely bloodied as she attempted a curtsy barely into the room, "Your majesty," she said, eyeing the big man sitting across from the king shortly with a small frown before she looked in the King's direction again. "You have a daughter."

Almost at once, every semblance of the anger he had felt a second prior disappeared within a wave of relief, "She lives?" He said, perhaps more than he should have whilst in front of an ambassador, but his relief was too much for him to care about such a detail as that.

Juliet's maid nodded strongly, and the relief only grew within his mind, "She is strong and healthy, sir; a beautiful baby girl."

And he would have gone; truly, he would have simply ran in the direction of his bedroom without much of another thought, but a simple congratulations spoken from Vithelstan himself made at least a small speck of his stern expression return as his eyes fell in his direction again, "It seems you are lucky, Lord Ambassador." Edmund said in his direction, lowering his hand away from his sword as he did, "I have been made a father a second time, and the joy the news brings me clouds my judgement; so I'm letting you go. Leave my family's castle, run back to Ettinsmoor and speak to your King of what you have done, lying to me, and trying to set an alliance with a friend in flames. Go! Now, before I come to my senses and have you arrested for treason; and I pray you don't make me regret this, or  _you_ will." He didn't really have to say anything else it seemed, for Vithelstan got up from his chair and bolted out of the room and past the waiting maid in such a way that it even sent her bloodied apron dancing with the waves of air created for his quick movements; pride and satisfaction thrilled within Edmund's heart and soul, for as much his brand new daughter as the security with which he had settled the Ettinsmoor situation, and for it, with that same sort of relief and happiness, he turned to look at Juliet's maid again, "Take me to my daughter."

And so she did.

Against the pride that had rested upon Edmund's heart, he never would have been able to imagine the scene he would walk into when he and the maid reached his room, though perhaps he should have suspected something to be wrong the moment the maid that had led him there had refused to look anywhere but the floor or spoke of no word of congratulations; as it was, upon the other side of the Western wing rested only mourning, and upon his arrival Edmund was faced with a silence so terrible that it alone would have been able to break his heart if the sight before him could not. Nothing more than the gentle crying of a newborn baby girl echoed in the room as all maids and nurses curtsied in respect as he entered, one baby girl he barely was able to notice as she attempted to be soothed by the Gentle Queen who held her in surprisingly steady arms, because all eyes in the room, including his the second he stopped to think, rested only on the figure on the bed: the pale, unmoving, and lifeless body of Juliet Capulet.

The bed was covered in blood that had fallen all the way to the stone under it, on the great bump of her body which had once held the baby inside her there was a long horizontal gash, and on the great bowl of water resting with towels and pieces of once white fabric there also rested the bloodied familiarity of one of Juliet's daggers; the image was clear, painted in a crimson hue of horror for the young King's eyes but it was clear; still it made his heart fall deeply to the bottom of his stomach and his knees feel weak, "Juliet," he softly said, for no one need tell him what he perfectly understood: his wife was dead, for however long it took her immortality to bring her back, but she was dead, just like she had been in front of him once before, drowned in her own blood. It was a sort of horror that wrapped around his neck like a noose in such a way that even clearing his throat did not help, gulping did not help, and when he was sure the image of her dead body had seared itself into his brain, Edmund Pevensie forced himself to look away, in search of his older sister, who continued holding onto his daughter as if she were her own. "What happened?"

And thus came the truth: the baby had not been in a position to be born, and what was worse, the cord that united mother and child had been wrapped around her throat, thus every time a contraction came all it was doing was strangling the child inside her; and so Juliet had begged, she had screamed at them to do what had to be done, to open her up at once, to save her child. Through her pain and her tears, Juliet Capulet had reached for the daggers on the table beside her side of the bed, and she had offered one of them to Susan, "Do it," she had told her, waving the knife in her direction as she began to plead on her bloodied knees atop the bed, "Thou knowest I cannot die, but my baby can, and I e'er refuse to stand aside while this failing body kills another child, I beg of thee, sister, do it, save mine baby, do all that can be done." And so they had; with their hearts up on their throats, led by the Queen, everyone had prepared for everything that had to be done, Susan herself had been the one to use one of Juliet's daggers to part her flesh and give way to the physician to do what she had to do, but in the end, regardless of how careful they had been, the young protector had lost too much blood, and the result, the sad result that came from it, rested lifeless upon the bed. The child was alive, crying in Susan's arms, strong and healthy, just like the maid had said, but Juliet… all that was left of her was a bloodied empty shell.

And the baby was a beautiful little thing, cleaned of all the blood and fluids, her porcelain skin looked softer than even the purest marble, and against all odds she had a small patch of dark brown hair atop her head; his daughter, his living, breathing, beautiful daughter. "Give her to me," He softly demanded, his eyes full of silent tears as his arms reached for the little girl who was now his, "I'll take care of her until…" But he could not even say it, not yet.

"Edmund she has to be fed," Susan began regardless of how she moved to hand the girl to him. "With Juliet gone, she will have to be given to a Nurse and—"

"Must I repeat my wife's will of no Nurses?" Edmund said strongly against the tears that fell quiet onto his cheeks, holding onto the little girl carefully in his arms, "Bring me one of Arthur's old bottles, fill it with milk, Violetta will be fine until her mother comes back, and then Juliet will feed her, just like she wishes to do."

Having learnt from the previous time, Susan did no more than bob her head in a nod and sent one the maids to get exactly what the King requested; once she had gone and the silence had returned into the room, Susan spoke again, "You're naming her Violetta?"

Edmund nodded, "I am," he sniffed his sorrow away as he softly graced his daughter's little head, gulping that continuous knot that refused to disappear from his throat; it had been one of the most important things, to name their children together, and so it was thus that any possible name had already been agreed long before a birth could be thought of. Always an English name and an Italian one, loving both their cultures deeply and together that not once would either of the two agree to skip one of the two names; but it was Juliet who always spoke them, her smiling full lips now laying lifeless behind him that would have opened and given the name to the child, always the English name before the other for the love she carried for him, always making it so that the world all around them called the prince Arthur instead of Luca, and thus, for the silence that remained from the lips of who would have said it if she could have, Edmund completed, "Violetta Octavia Pevensie," for once placing her Italian name first, for the love he held for his resting dead wife, "Princess of Narnia."

Susan nodded, forcing a smile onto the fullness of her lips, "That is a beautiful name." She said, walking closer to her brother and setting a single hand upon his shoulder, soothing, as much as she could be in such a situation, "Come, we should go present your daughter, while the others clean and dress Juliet for when she comes back and—"

"No," Edmund quickly interrupted, taking a step back away from his sister and holding onto the little princess with the same sort of protection he had once donned for Arthur's birth, "I will not present her without Juliet; hell, I will not leave. Yes, my wife will be washed and dressed, and I will help with that, but once that is done, she will be set on our bed, and I will stay by her side, not to be disturbed by anyone other than the carrier of my child's bottle or some water and fruit for me, but no one, and I mean this, to everyone listening, no one will allow me to be disturbed," he said, tears breaking his voice as he held his newborn daughter against his chest, and finally, for the first time since he had been holding little Violetta in his arms, he looked at the still figure of Juliet on the bed. "Not for as long as it takes for her to come back to me."

And so it was, reluctantly and without much hope that Susan and all nurses and maids had to leave the room for anything needed to clean, fix and dress the dead Queen; and once the beautiful Italian had been set upon the middle of the bed, dressed in a beautiful purple gown of silk and embroidery, no one dared disturb the young King or his daughter for the remainder of a week, when the Soft Queen opened her eyes and inhaled Narnian air once again.


	59. Chapter 59

─ ♚ ─

 _It had all became too cold, the nights were often confused by days through the brightness of the snow around her, the lake she tended to look into and spend her day around had frozen over entirely, and every single sound of the animals that had brought life to the forest around her had either disappeared or diminished to small chirps, or breaths hidden behind some tree or bush behind her; but the worst was the cold. Even the beauty of the snow could be loved no longer, each breath felt like a curse, her barely covered feet hurt with all the blood that tried keeping each limb alive, and though she knew all she had to do was step out of the forest and find a friendly creature that would help her stay warm, the fear she continued having of being taken away from that second life was enough to have her silently wondering about from tree to tree with the hopes of finding a place to find solace against the skin-shattering wind that made her feel like no warmth would ever be found again in the world._ If thou doth mean to take me, then take me now,  _she thought, hopeful that perhaps the High Protectors could hear her plea, but as the days and hours passed and became even colder still, even that little hope had gone away._

_She could find frozen apples for food, she need only shatter a stone against the familiar lake to get water, but shelter... that was harder to find; and when she did find it, a little cave at the edge of the Northern woods, it was all much too late. Her toes looked black when she removed her shoes, every single one of her limbs was bright with frostbite, her lips were almost as blue as the bright ice around her, and even by the time she finally sat down against the cold stone within that cave, she wished to do nothing else other than sleep; her eyes begged her to let them rest, even her heart felt heavy within her chest, her limbs no longer trembled, each breath took high strength to achieve, and in the end, the gentle tiredness had become enough to allow the strange girl to close her eyes at once, until eventually the dreams came, and as her mind was softly taken into the warmth of an Italian summer, her heart began to slow, her breaths became less prominent, and the cold of her surroundings claimed her life once more._

_No one in that world would have known of her death, they would not have mourned her, they wouldn't even think too much about her as anything other than a little tale spoken from mouth to mouth, of the mysterious young girl that had always only ever been seen within the woods; even the trees did not know what to make of her, for whenever they had tried to speak to her nothing but pleasantries could be exchanged, and a well familiar claim:_ Mind me not, for I shall not be here much longer.  _And thus, when young Juliet Capulet stopped breathing within that cave, not even the trees had noticed for they had become quiet, not one creature had missed her for they had all hidden away against the terror of the one who had made the eternal winter, not even the Protectors that so refused to speak with her had even thought to note that her heart had been stopped once again; the cave became her tomb, and for an amount of days no one would have even thought to count, the pale lifeless figure of a sitting girl would have been able to be seen by anyone who dared wonder within that place, nothing but the memory of who she had been, which no one had even been able to understand at all._

_The first thing she had been able to feel had been her smaller extremities, within a pain so prominent that it had even made her wish to scream; they shone pink alike her cheeks, alike her lips, until the mere horror of their agony had forced her voice to crack with the echo of her pain deeply enough that a small family of foxes who held their den close to that cave had been able to hear; they had been scared of the noise as deeply as Juliet had been horrified by the pain, and thus it had taken both the foxes and the girl a long time to even think to move, but move they did. Of course, for the life slowly returning into her body, Juliet did not go too far, barely a couple of feet away from the place she had rested before, and nowhere close to the mouth of the cave; but two of the foxes, lively and healthy as they had been, had easily wondered into the cave with bared teeth and bristled backs, ready to defend their close den from whatever monster had made the sounds that had awakened their young in the middle of the night. It was exactly thus, crying, dishevelled, and in agony that they found Juliet lying on the floor of that cave, "Why... 'tis only the girl," The female fox had said, the first to see the source of their terror, and therefore the first to stand straight and relax her posture as she cautiously approached the crying girl._

" _Careful," her mate had said, still slightly crouched and narrowing his eyes in the other's direction, "It could be a trap."_

" _It hurts," Juliet had said in a note broken enough for the amount of time she had not used her voice, and the tears that accompanied the small complaint, "It hurts, I beg thee, make it stop."_

" _What hurts, child?" The female fox asked, getting closer to the human girl and sniffing around her as she went._

_Of course, she hadn't been able to smell blood, for Juliet had not been hurt, and still, "Everything," the girl had cried, not once breaking the tears that continued falling and almost immediately freezing against her cheeks._

" _Don't get any closer," the other fox had warned, "They say the Witch can take any form to fool anyone."_

" _Quiet, Herran," The female fox had exclaimed, laying a paw on one of Juliet's hands and noting almost immediately how the screams of agony returned once again. "This is no witch," she had informed almost immediately, "This girl is freezing, and if we don't help her, she will die."_

" _She was already dead." The fox called Herran replied, growling along his words in a way that only foxes could do, "Look at her clothes, Danya, look at her hair, this is the same girl we thought unlucky to find on this cave. What else could bring her back to life but the witch? I tell you, leave her be, let's get away from here, we—"_

" _You would have me abandon a young girl in need?!"_

" _It could be a trap!"_

 _Eventually, even the words of the foxes had gone unnoticed, for the only thing Juliet had been able to focus on had been the word so easily thrown by the male fox, who she could hear continue arguing against helping her in any way; dead? What could he possibly have meant with that word? She was as alive as she had been before, with pain upon extremities she had thought she would lose, but alive;_ what dost thou mean?  _She wanted to ask, but by that point the foxes had left, and all she had been left with had been her terror, and her pain. It had spread all over her body, slowly, burning her as it went and giving life back to her, it didn't matter if her eyes closed, it didn't matter if she lost consciousness for a moment only to wake up hours later with a fire in front of her and a tray with food close beside it, the pain remained; it hurt, and hurt, and hurt until..._

Her eyes opened slowly into a darkness so soft that for a moment Juliet thought she was back in that cave in the middle of the forest with nothing but the coldest blue shining all around her through the brightness of the moon, until the canopy above her was noted slowly and seemed almost to shift and twist like a black void much higher than the cave's top had been, softer, warmer, and thus as the seconds passed around her she realised she was in a room. The bed under her was soft and as warm as the sheets that covered her, there was silence uninterrupted regardless of a gentle breathing beside her, and a smell of faded candle reached her, which seemed familiar even to her heart; a heart which slowly beat within her chest in such a way that even a deep breath felt much too heavy; and the pain, the remnant of a forgotten pain against her tender flesh across her stomach, it was all as much welcome as loathed as she attempted forcing her fingers to move, because even those felt as heavy as her head whilst every single memory of all that had happened since that night within a cave returned swiftly onto her.

The foxes had helped her, from afar at first, but they had helped her, and only once she had explained who she was, and how she had been waiting to be pulled away at any from that world moment did the two creatures begin to trust her; regardless of how scared she had been upon learning of her immortality within Narnia she had been allowed into their den, allowed to play with their younglings, and eventually even been part of a conversation that another gentle Fox had brought to their table on the first night of what felt like a coming spring, "Aslan is gathering troops," he had said, and everything around the world had changed since then. Indeed, as every single one of her extremities became her own again in the present, slowly moving and living once more, every single change in as much her life as Narnia's returned with a sharp intake of breath the moment she tried to turn in place and the pain upon her stomach stung like a freshly pressed knife against her flesh: she was a Queen, married to one of the very sons of Adam that had brought the spring back into the world, they had a kid, and... "Juliet?" Came his voice closely beside her, the familiar warm voice, broken and tired as he woke from sleep. "By the Lion, Juliet, you're back!" And then the pain became worse.

It was a pain she would have gladly endured, for it was brought by the swift movements of Edmund Pevensie as he basically pulled her into his arms as strongly as if she had gifted him something wonderful, "You're back, oh, thank the Lion, you came back to me," even his fingers threaded on her hair, pulling her closer, and closer, as if his embrace was not close enough, as if the continuous kisses he pressed against her lips and her face were not enough, "You stubborn, hot headed girl, how dare you leave me like this, huh? They told me what you did, and you... oh, I hated you so much when they told me; goddamn you, but you did, you came back to me now, you're back, you—" his tears fell against her hair, and his words became muffled by her shoulder when his embrace became even tighter, but by then the pain had become too much.

"Ed," she attempted then with tears of her own and a voice that broke for the days of not being used and the life that had returned to her, "It hurts."  _And let it hurt_ , she thought,  _let it for thou art here and I love thee so,_  but her body said otherwise, and the relief that came from being set back against the bed and the pillows was such that even a small release of a pained breath became enough to almost muffle the single apology he attempted.

Even then one of her hands became trapped by his, and she simply would not have it otherwise regardless of how the ghost of a trickling drop of blood ran against the flesh of her stomach, "I have waited for so long," he said, cradling her hand, kissing it, and moving as close as he could to her without disturbing her recovering rest this time, "I didn't leave the room, I couldn't, I was so angry with you for deciding to die that I knew I would have been a monster to all those who spoke to me, whether they deserved it or not, and—"

"Ed," Juliet attempted.

But the other simply would not stop, "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what it was like to come into the room and see you  _dead_? Everyone refused to look at me, and I was with that stupid ambassador when I could have been by your side—"

"Ed..."

"—my heart completely broke, Juliet. I didn't know what to do, or think; worse than that, if it wasn't for the fact that I knew you would come back, I don't even know what I would have—"

"Edmund, please,"

"What!?" The King exclaimed; refusing to let go of her regardless of the tears that otherwise easily tainted his cheeks, or the rage that had had him spewing words left and right.

"Did it work?" Juliet wondered the moment she had even been able to talk; her voice still felt weak, but the conviction of her amber eyes became enough to give her voice the strength it had ever carried. Perhaps she should have known he would be angry, even expected it, but ever since she'd remembered the reason she had laid dead upon that bed there was only one thing she had wished to know, "The baby... did it... is it..."

Almost at once, the King's expression shifted from relieved rage onto guilt; after all, there she was, barely coming back to life, and instead of speaking of the very reason she had died and the thanks he should have been speaking to her for sacrificing her life for their daughter he had allowed his past anger to lay on her weakened shoulders. Oh, selfish, heartless, unlearning little monster, how could he? How  _dare_ he? How—"She's alive," he told her before any other thought could break the security of his words, "She-she's asleep, here, in Arthur's old crib; we've both been waiting for you."

But as Edmund fought the demons within his mind, the strongest sort of relief came over Juliet in such a way that she even felt every single one of her muscles relax, "She...?" It had worked; regardless of her weakened body or the possibility of losing another child, the odds had been broken and she had been able to do what her own mother had not: she had given birth to a second living child, a girl, "Octavia."

Without letting go of her hand, Edmund cleaned away his tears, "Violetta, actually." He corrected, "I mean, yes, her name is also Octavia, but that's only her second name—I... well—"

"I thought she wouldst e'er be known as Octavia," the revived Queen said, smiling within her thanks and trapping his hand in both of hers.

"Well, you weren't here," he told her almost coldly and unfairly; yet exactly at the same moment the words left he regretted them, he hated them, and his eyes fell to their held hands almost at once. "I'm sorry... I just..." he gulped, for the tears had stopped but the knot in the middle of his throat had not left, "I didn't know if you would actually come back; which is stupid, I know," he said the second Juliet's lips began to part to interrupt him, "But I mean, really, maybe it's  _not_  such a stupid thought; honestly, how many times are we supposed test it through you dying and us waiting, you know? I—I didn't know if... well, I might have needed something to remember you by if you didn't come back."

Yet, almost as soon as his words died out, one of Juliet's hands lifted with a softness that was known only to her, to grace his cheeks, a single motion that at first only seemed comforting until her fingers lowered to his chin so she could nudge his face to look at her, so those red-stained brown eyes of his could focus on hers; the relief within them, the hope upon her smile, the love that radiated off of her simply with that gaze she looked at him with, "Know it, my heart, that I wouldst e'er come back to thee; for as long as this mine vow to the Protectors holds a beating heart within mine chest, for no death can truly touch me whilst a duty outside Narnia awaits me, if it could..." It was her turn to gulp, for a hard decision would have come upon her if true death could claim her, if there had been any possibility for her to not come back, to let her unborn child die, or... "I wouldst ne'er have dared to leave thee behind, nor Arthur without a mother, though I pray thee believe me, I am glad I did not have that choice, for I  _can_ come back, thus forgive me if thou wilt, for the choice come to me much faster than any apology or permission couldst have been asked."

The young king could do no more than release the gentlest chuckles of as much relief as amusement, "Not that you would have stopped to ask my permission if there  _had_  been time."

"Indeed, I wouldst ne'er have," The girl agreed trough a soft chuckle that stopped swiftly enough for the pain even such joy brought her, "God as my witness, I wouldst have begged thee to leave, or if it hath been thus necessary, the guards wouldst have had orders from mine lips to take thee away at once, 'til all was sure than naught could be done by thy hands to stop me."

"You stubborn, evil girl," Edmund said, but even then his lips had been raised on a smile until they met with hers, softly, carefully as to not hurt her, making sure not one part of his weight rested on her for the good of her recovery.

Until she pulled away, and pressing a hand against his chest she asked, "Pray, wouldst thou hate me for refusing to allow this mine body to murder our child when I knew all would be well?"

"You wouldn't be murdering—"

"Ed,"

The young king had no other option than to release a heavy breath of defeat, "I wouldn't dare; not anymore, because you came back to me." He repeated, moving to kiss her once again; and though she didn't pull back this time, eventually he did, if only to smile down at her for the offer he attempted to make: "You want to see her? I've been feeding her the same sort of milk we started giving Arthur after his first year, but I'm sure she would welcome what you would give her more than anything at this point."

Her daughter... she had a healthy living daughter now after the sorrow from before; she could almost cry from the very happiness the thought brought her, and thus, she nodded, "Help me sit, aye. And let us pray death can do naught upon what I couldst give her for nourishment."

Just like the first time it had happened, every single corner of Edmund's heart seemed to break at every speck of a pained grunt that fell from Juliet's lips, but still, he helped her, placing the pillows well on the headrest so her back could rest against them, and she need not move anything other than her arms; when the Protector seemed to be as comfortable as she could be, the king finally moved towards the crib where he had left a sleeping Violetta. And there she was, wrapped in a beautiful little blue blanket that Lucy Pevensie had brought for her three days prior, with her stomach falling and raising upon the peaceful sleep she was led by in such a way that it almost felt like a crime to take her from the crib, but take her he did, calmly, carefully, but still unwelcome enough by the little princess that a little echo of complaint fell from her tiny pink lips. Her features wrinkled shortly, but no other noise left her pursed mouth, only her hands battled with the blanket, and became free by the time she had been carefully placed in her mother's arms.

For a moment the only sounds within the room were the little cooing noises fallen from the princess' lips alongside the echoes of the nocturnal animals outside, and though she moved carefully for the sake of the wound, Juliet wished she could have frozen that moment in time, a wish that remained until one of her tears fell softly upon her daughter's cheek, and the shock of such a thing finally made the little princess cry; one of her little hands had already begun holding onto her mother's hair, but still Juliet tried to rock her as much as she could regardless of the burning pain that easily slipped upon her for movements so soft as those, "Shh, my darling... shh," the Queen began, and tried almost at once to pull the strings of the front of her dress herself as if she were strong enough to hold her child with only one hand. But the gentle grunts fallen from her lips alongside her trembling hand were enough to bring a sense of alarm into the King's heart in such a way that he swiftly moved to help her with the familiar strings at once. "Thank you," she said once both her hands had focused on their purpose of holding Octavia, "There, please, give me another pillow and place it on my lap, so I might set her there; naught will I be able to do when it appears I do need a free hand."

And so it was that Edmund tried to help again, pulling on the sheets that covered her so he could place another pillow in its place; but before he could, a gentle gasp brought him pause, when he saw a bright horizontal red stain upon the purple of her silk dress. The stitches... "You're bleeding," he said, but still placed the pillow where she had wanted it; even if soon after he began to move to get off the bed at once, "I'll fetch Susan, she'll know what—"

"No," Juliet easily stopped him, using that free hand she had needed and allowed herself to use once Octavia's little body had been securely placed upon the great pillow on her lap; she held his hand securely, barely having caught it in time. "Stay here, I beg. 'Tis naught but a bit of blood that will soon dry and can be fixed upon the morrow; I wish none else than to be by thy side, alone, with our daughter."

"Juliet..."

"Please," she nearly begged, the strings of her dress undone in such a way that one of her breasts had already slipped its confines, and their daughter already silent on her other arm and the pillow, rested silent already, feeding.

Blessed be the miracle of life, for the young King would not even dare to think breaking a moment such as that; and thus, with a soft released breath, worriedly but willingly, he turned to fully face her again, and managed to lay by her side once more regardless of the stain upon her dress that, though prominent, at least did not seem to grow any more. Thus, with the two parents perfectly happy, and their baby girl loved by both, the night passed; from a beautiful shared moment awake, until all three of them had fallen asleep eventually once again. Alike it had been upon her death within that cave, not one person outside that room knew of Juliet's revival, but unlike the solitude and coldness of that long remembered shelter in the middle of winter, she now rested warm, loved and accompanied by all but one member of her family, with her husband beside her, her new daughter in her arms, and her beloved son resting in his own room only steps away from their own. Juliet would have it simply no other way; she was safe, she was perfectly happy.

As she would unknowingly remain, alongside the peace and joy of Narnia, for only barely two and a half years more after that day.


	60. Chapter 60

─ ♚ ─

_**February 18** _ _**th** _ _**NY 1015** _

It was hard to think of everything that had happened in the past few years as she waited there, sitting in the library that perhaps could be blamed to have started it all; from the many arguments, to the vows of adoration between she and her husband, to the sorrows brought even after Octavia's birth when another baby girl had been born dead and two other miscarriages had driven Juliet Capulet to the brink of depression. She had barely even wanted to see her children for days, unwilling to leave her bed for the tears that drove her there even as recently as six months prior, for every time she looked upon Arthur or Octavia's eyes, so familiar even in the blue of her mother's within her little princess' gaze, she could only feel the shadow of all the children lost; from Henry, dead before he had even drawn a first breath, to Elizabeth who had shared her brother's fate, and every unnamed child before and in between that had gone before Juliet's belly could have become too swollen. Eight pregnancies of which only two children had lived, and only an argument so loud within the halls of the Western Wing, brought forth mightily after her husband had pulled her forcibly by the hand out of bed, had been able to shake the Queen, so young in her appearance but so old in her heart, from the sorrow that had drowned her almost entirely. "How canst thou not mourn them?" She had wondered once she had been able to pull her hand away from his strong hold, tears brightening her cheeks so profoundly that any could have claimed her face was made of glass, "How canst thou go on as if none hath happened? As if none had perished for the weakness of mine flesh? All of them, aye, even the first who hath gone unknown for years?"

"I DO MOURN THEM, JULIET!" Edmund had exclaimed at last, in a voice so strong and loud that the remnants of his words had echoed from the hall's walls longer than usual, "Every bloody night in my dreams, every time I have to see you cry, every time I  _touch_ you with fear that my desire for you might bring upon more sorrow into your heart; I remember them, I love them, and still, I go on. Not because I am a king, not because I have no heart, not because I think our dead children are uncircumstantial, but because I know that we  _do_ have two living children that deserve every ounce of love I can give, because it is  _not_ their fault their siblings died, because regardless of what you might think, I can tell you plainly, whether they are five and three, or ten and twelve, they know and understand each grief, each sorrow in ways you and I have forgotten, and I refuse to let their hearts hollow for troubles that are not theirs.

And for it, I tell you this," He said, taking two steps closer to her, the first time he ever spoke to his wife as anything but an equal, as anything but the one person he refused to command for the respect and the love he had for her, even lifting a finger with pointing accusation as he did, "Go back, go lie upon our bed and cry for another day, I won't stop you. And after that, grieve, grieve all you must as I am, for another week, a month, a year, for never will I know what it is like to carry life within you and feel it die; but for the sake of Arthur and Violetta, you  _better_  show your face tomorrow morning, you  _better_  love them, hold them as lovingly as you might have done upon their birth, because it is not fair, and your sorrow is not their fault, and if you make them think it is, if you make  _my_ children grow haunted by what they have no power over, I swear, for the love I have for you, which you know is more than I ever could think to love, I swear, that you will regret it, Juliet. Mark my words, you  _will_ regret it."

She had never been able to know what he had meant by his threat, nor had she raised another word against his argument for the simple truth it carried within it even with the thought unfairness of his words—for they were her children too, but could she really make such a claim when nearly a month had passed with her constant refusal to see them?—instead she had watched him go, angry as he was, back to the part of the castle where his Kingly duties awaited; the tears had drowned her, but within them also the truth of her own unfairness to her husband as much as their children. After all, had she not heard Edmund waking in the middle of the night from many nightmares within the past years? Had she not seen the shadow behind his eyes whenever he smiled many a time, regardless of the occasion they smiled for? Arthur had stopped calling her Dulet even as a nickname and gone on to refer to her as nothing but mother, even Octavia in her barely three years of age had stopped smiling at her the way she always had, and all for what? Her tears could not bring her dead children back, her broken heart could not stop beating to give her life to them the way she had done upon her only living daughter's birth; indeed, Edmund had been right: all her sorrow was doing was making those surviving children become distant from her, making it so that if she was not careful she could lose her family entirely and at once.

It had been that argument which had pulled her out of the shell she would have otherwise happily died in regardless of her words to him many times before; she had gotten out of bed the next day, bathed, dressed beautifully and even braided her hair, and from that day forward, her grief was kept only to the nights. But no longer did she grieve alone, for her eyes had been opened, and for months she continued to cry in Edmund's arms, even when Arthur's loving  _mamma_  or  _Dulet_  echoed again, even when Octavia began smiling so much at her every day that it didn't even matter that it was Edmund she wanted to follow around instead of Juliet like Arthur had, she cried; until time made it easier to cry no longer and simply love, live, and work.

It also helped that childbearing had stopped being only  _her_ problem but that of all the other royal couples in the castle; it was no secret that both Peter and Athena and Susan and Lark had been trying to share on the (limited) luck the Just couple had had, to bring into the world more princes or princesses for the sake of the royal line, and in the case of King Peter's marriage, the next heir to the Narnian crown. Because a decision had been made about such subjects, one which had taken some getting used to when it resulted in Arthur and Octavia ever being no more than a prince and princess of Narnia for the sake of keeping all sorts of conflict far and away from the monarchy; after all, if the line of four kings and Queens remained thereafter, then eventually, with the expansion of their line, too many relatives could lay claim to the crown, bringing chaos with it and therefore an inner destruction of Narnian lives. Thus, when it was announced that, at last, Queen Athena was with child early in the year, the necessity for such a conversation had come, and the outcome became such: it would be the High King's children who would inherit the crown, the  _only_ crown, for the sovereignty of his tile as the King of Kings, with the oldest of their cousins becoming only second, third, or fourth in line. Though it was not more than a passing thought for the Soft Queen, who worried more about Athena's well being within her newfound pregnancy (which Juliet herself had even made note of in the first place for her to even think of getting checked) than whether her children would be monarchs or not; as it was, as much joy as fear had crossed the Warrior Queen's expression when the confirmation of her condition had come, and Juliet could not blame her—if it had been her in her place, Juliet would have been terrified to be with child considering all the loss and sorrow presented within the castle for the same reason in previous years.

It was, in fact, exactly such a subject she was thinking of as her hands played with the corners of the portrait of her Edmund kept upon the desk, when a knock on the door begged her attention; almost at once, her demeanour changed, from the dreamy pondering state she had been waiting in that room with, to one of status and power as her back straightened and the portrait was perfectly left unbothered on its previous place, "Enter," she said as her hands set clasped upon the desk, and the amber of her gaze focused only on the oak of the great door of that beloved library of hers.

In came one of the familiar guards, for whom she smiled as easily as if he were part of the family as well, "Well met, your majesty," he said with a smile of his own, "I have the Lady Evenford here for you, says she has business with you and will speak to no other."

"Aye, I have been expecting her, let her in." She did not like it, but at moments such as those she had to act the very Queen she had agreed to become, with the pretty silk dress of red and silver to match the beautiful crown resting atop her head; even her hair rested half up and half down, royal in the ringlets that fell well past her shoulders as much as the braids that made her crown part of her hairstyle; she had to stand from that familiar chair—the one she shared with Edmund when it was necessary, for that cabinet was theirs, and so both of them could meet diplomats as well as any other visitor who deemed it proper to speak only to them—, and above all, as the beautiful Terabinthian lady stepped into the room, she had to allow her the time it took to curtsy deeply regardless of how Juliet had never grown used to or even thought herself worthy of a curtsy in the first place. "Stand, dear Lady, and join me so that we may talk," as the visitor stood, Juliet turned to the guard, "Loftkin, pray, remain outside the door, I wish naught a soul to hear our words, save for those within this room."

"Your majesty," with a bow, the guard exited the room, and the great oak door shut behind him.

Almost at once Juliet's eyes returned to the newcomer—she with the long blonde locks, bright honey eyes and skin so soft and pale it could very well have been made of marble—so she could sit across her upon that great comfortable chair that to her always felt more like a throne with the engraving of the Just crown upon the top of its backrest, "I must admit, Lady, I was surprised to receive thy letter," she began, "Though I wish thee to know it did not come unwelcome, for I have long believed Princess Juno couldst have done with some who spoke her tongue outside of King Lark, thus I welcome thee to the castle, most heartily."

The pretty lady across from her smiled at once, "My thanks go to you, Queen Juliet; I near believed even sending a letter might have been in vain."

"Please," the protector said, "Call me Juliet, as I wouldst hope thou doth from this moment forth if thy will and mine own necessity wouldst have thee work for me. Now, come, tell me, what brings thee forth into this realm that so hopeless thou hath thought thy letter?"

"Oh, I…" The blonde laughed, her pretty eyes becoming shielded by her lids as she looked onto her hands; but that smile, so innocent and amiable, it did well with the gentle blush upon her cheeks and almost immediately made the Queen like her. "Well, if I must be frank, I did believe my qualities might perhaps not have been enough for a Lady's maid to the Princess of Archenland, but I am thankful that you have given me the chance to prove to your majesty that they are."

"Who better qualified to attend the Princess than one who doth speak her tongue?" Juliet mused, leaning against the desk shortly and counting the modesty in the other's eyes and smile as perhaps too much of a quality to fault her for the candour of her words, "I have here a letter from thy previous charge, Lady Carlotte… she speak'st well of thee, I must admit, very well; though regardless of that, she fails to speak of the reason thou hath been let go. Canst thou tell me?"

The lady once again looked down, "Oh, I believe her pride might have made her unable to say a thing herself, and I do not wish to gossip…"

"'tis no gossip, but something I must ask, though none of which thou speaketh here will leave this room," Juliet encouraged, "Thou must be thus aware that I should know, for though she speaks't well of thee, I coulds't e'er believe it false if it come forcefully written, and I promise thee, Lady, I wouldst soon find out."

"Oh-oh, no, I," the other shortly stuttered, leaning closer to the desk within her plead as her hands tightly held onto the little bag she had brought in with her; even her honey eyes seemed to grow at the accusation, "I did not mean to insinuate that at all, I promise, it's just… well, my Lady is grievously ill, that's all, she begged me to leave for my own sake, though I did try to protest; fail as I might have done, I still did not think it my place to spread such horrors into the ears of those, respectfully, your majesty, that she had not told herself."

Juliet smiled almost at once, "Thou art loyal," she noted, rolling the parchment of the Archen Lady's words of reference before easily placing it aside. " _And_ honest, even at the face of those some might be wary to answer back to; I like that in a Lady's maid, for that be specifically what I would ask of thee if thou were to work for me. I only have two questions," she paused, and almost forced herself to place upon her features the sort of coldness she might have once or twice seen on her own mother when she spoke to her own maids; if only for the sake of her words, "Number one: wouldst thy loyalty be to us if I were to accept thee?"

Almost at once the blonde nodded, "Of course," even the loose ringlets of her hair bounced with the motion, "I admit, I will ever hold a dear spot within my heart for my Lady Carlotte, but I am loyal to whom I serve, you can trust me on that, you have my word."

"Trust will come with time, Lady Evenford," the Queen said, sitting straight on that blue and silver chair, "Here, in this castle, trust is ne'er simply given, but earned."

"Of course," the Lady said, though partly disappointed, "as it should be everywhere."

Juliet nodded, mastering the severity of her expression unlike the softness of her title as she crossed her arms atop the desk once again, "Lastly," she continued, her gaze intent on the pretty honey hues of the one across from her, "I wouldst here like to know thy reasons for deciding to work here in Cair Paravel, when I am sure one and many Ladies within Archenland, or even thy homeland of Terabinthia might have need of thy help."

It nearly seemed as if the girl had been expecting another question entirely with the way her eyes shifted and studied the wall behind the Queen or the rolled parchments on the desk, almost as if her answer were to be written plainly for her to read; but her smile, that beautiful dainty smile that made her cheeks almost seem like two puffs of porcelain, made her intent clear: she was looking for the right words.  _The truth,_  Juliet thought,  _pray thee, speak the truth as thou hast done thus far._ "I must confess, the thought of going back to my homeland never even occurred to me," the Lady began, finally daring to look into Juliet's eyes regardless of how her smile stayed on her lips, "and my love for Lady Carlotte would have made it so that I may not truly have been able to accept another Archenland home with the respect it would deserve, so leaving and serving elsewhere seemed the only option. That, at least, is part of it," she admitted, with the soft echo of a breathed laugh escaping her parted lips, "The rest… well, Narnia has ever held a soft spot within my heart, for its history, its stories, its kings and Queens, including you, King Lark and Queen Athena, and I just thought it would be an  _honour_ to even be able to serve and help within the home of such royals that I… well, that I admired for so long."

"And help thou wilt," Juliet admitted, finally smiling once again; easily returned the soft and bright Queen that had married the youngest King, "For thou must know now that, indeed, thy main task wouldst be to serve Princess Juno, but if e'er it be needed, thy help  _will_  be required for far more than that: from helping with mine son and daughter, who many a time doth spend time with the Princess herself, to the rest of the castle and its maintenance or its intended readiness when visits come."

The Lady seemed almost ecstatic as she enthusiastically nodded and said, "Of course, anything."

"Alike, thou wouldst ne'er find me an easy person to please, for the one I answer to is e'er hard and opinionated, and well known for the intensity of her rule and organisation as much as her beauty," Juliet continued.

But the perplexed expression in Lady Everford's pretty face became enough to halt any other word Juliet might speak, "The one you answer to?" the Lady wondered upon her pause, showing the shadow of a little frown for the first time in that pretty face of hers, "By all the respect I have for your majesty, if I may…" Juliet simply encouraged her with a short nod, "How can you have someone to answer to if you are a Queen?"

"Consort," Juliet swiftly responded, "I am only but Queen Consort."

"But… in and out of Narnia, you seem an equal in rule as the Kings and Queens that freed this land from the eternal winter."

It almost made Juliet feel inadequate once again, for the first time since the last time she had been reminded of her sovereignty, which had been years, "Aye, it is thus," she agreed, keeping the smile plain upon her lips, "For such be the custom of Narnia, in which wives and husbands are considered equal as the Kings and queens by right; but I have thereafter chosen to serve regardless of mine crown." She paused, "'Tis my fortune that none in this land are forced to do anything they do not wish to do, and I ne'er wished to rule. I am a lucky one, to carry the crown and the title though I do naught upon it unless necessary, indeed."

Though still with a sort of perplexity Juliet could not entirely understand, the Lady nodded and said "Indeed," in such a way that, for the first time since the other had entered the room, the Italian simply could not pretend to know how to read her.

And why not; the ways of Narnia had ever seemed strange to all those that did not live within it, there was no fault in that. "Hast thou any other questions for me?" She asked instead; and when finally the girl across from her smiled once more and shook her head, Juliet was able to relax once more: another duty gone well. "Then I welcome thee into Cair Paravel once more; thou wouldst have a place here if thou wilt accept it, to work, aye, for me and Princess Juno. I believe thee to be a great addition to the castle, and wouldst e'er wish thee to begin as soon as possible."

The happiness in the other's face was almost even palpable, and such it was that for the first time in a while even Juliet felt true excitement within her heart, "I would only need a week," the blonde said, by then sitting at the edge of her seat, "Enough to properly farewell my Lady and pack my things; if that will be well with your majesty."

Juliet nodded once more, "Perfectly." And stood at once from the great chair; barely a second later, Lady Evenford rose as well, "I will speak to the Princess of thee until then; thy rooms will be ready for thy arrival in a week's time."

"I look forward to it very much," the Lady said, "Thank you, thank you; until then." She curtsied and walked as she spoke, once and again with every thanks that left her lips; and when she finally reached the door, a sort of excited laugh escaped them alongside a little jump that even made the crimson-clad queen smile, ever so much even by the time the Lady had disappeared down the hall and only the guard's curious frame rested in the threshold looking at Juliet, ready for orders once again.

"Thank you, Loftkin," she said, taking the two rolls of parchment that were hers from the mess on the desk and making her way in his direction, "Any word from my husband?"

The guard shook his head, "He remains with the Kings and Queens; all but your majesty and Queen Athena have remained from the appointment."

"Knowest thou of her whereabouts?" Juliet wondered, stepping out of the beloved library, and closing the door behind her.

"Aye, ma'am; she has gone to the playroom with Lord Peridan and Princess Octavia."

"I will go to them, then," Juliet announced, smiling kindly at the familiar dwarf, "I thank thee for aiding me today; and thus I beg, go to thy family, I have long kept you from them already."

The guard bowed gently, "It is my honour to serve, my Queen," He rose, "Until the morrow." And off he went, leaving Juliet with her parchments and the satisfaction of a day well spent.

She had not had to speak with many people that day, for only three had seemed qualified for the specific position she had requested, but still, it had not been the first time that she, as Head of Household, had to test the waters of the hearts of others who wished to serve within the castle under her; she did so in a way she had known her mother to do, for she had been truly the only person she had personally known to have to deal with things such as those. Polite as ever, she started every conversation with the same sort of brightness she was known for, only to be broken onto a mask of severity and coldness once the seriousness of the conversation came to light; of course, in the case of her mother, such a frosty front had not been a mask at all, but the sort she carried herself with at all times. Madonna Isabella Capuletti had not been known for the sort of softness which Juliet even carried in a title; she had been feared, she had been respected, and ever she had told her daughter that love was wasted on those who served within the house, and yet the girl had never been able to believe it, she had loved and befriended each and every one of the servants, the ones who worked in the vineyard, even her personal maids; and thus, she carried that along even after death, even after the centuries within Earth as a young Protector, even after the almost a thousand years of solitude within the Narnian woods, and thus now as Head of Household even before she had been titled a Queen.

So far it had worked very well, creating strong bonds between her and the castle workers in such a way that even within the sorrows of the years they had all felt like a second family she could count on; ones who understood and did not judge her during those times in which despair had claimed her so strongly to barely be able to leave a room, ones who even admired her whenever she continued on working and ruling regardless of how much of a Mother she was, carrying her children around, or letting them help in little things so as to spend time with them without forgoing her duties. And so she was confident about the new recruit as she turned the corner of the hallway that would lead her to the playroom; fair Lady Evenford, who had passed each and every one of her tests long before they had even spoken, and beautifully upon their conversation, hopefully would become a loyal and close Lady to Princess Juno, at last having agreed to have a personal Lady's maid to aid her ever since her previous one had left.

It was that, as much as the echoing laughter she heard coming from the playroom, that allowed Juliet Capulet the smile which lifted her lips and even made the two guards standing outside the closed doors smile alike as they moved to open them for her; inside, to her pleasant surprise, were not only Lady Athena with a great doll in her hand, and Lord Peridan with Princess Octavia upon his back as if he were a horse, but Princess Juno with a wooden sword in her hand and Prince Arthur with another one pointing in the direction of his sister and the Lord, "Give up, my Lady! Thou hast lost thy sword, the princess is mine!" the young Prince was saying.

Yet nothing but a single and absolute "No!" left from the little Princess' lips as she held on to Lord Peridan's curls, "Theny has her! She mine!"

The five year old prince seemed almost disappointed as he lowered his sword, "No, Vi, that is not Aunt Athena, it's a cave troll!"

Though the soft laughter broke from the adults in the room, finally Juliet spoke and made herself known, "Why Arthur, wherefore wouldst thou call thy lovely aunt such a thing? She be no cave troll, canst thou see she is fairer than that?" But that smile upon her lips, brightened by the love she had for her children, proved the playfulness of her words.

"Mamma!" Exclaimed the young prince, letting go of his wooden sword and running in Juliet's direction to wrap his arms around her waist; and what an embrace it was, that so easily included her in the little circle on the ground as if she had been there all along.

"It's alright, Juliet, I  _am_ a cave troll," Queen Athena said, still holding onto her doll and smiling as wide as everyone else in the room seemed to be, "Or, at least, I will  _turn_  into one in a few months, when this kid makes me grow so big I end up stomping my way through the halls of the castle."

At least, at that, Juliet's eyes rolled, and she allowed herself to be led into the circle to sit down between Athena and Juno by Arthur's pulling hand, "Nonsense," she said, "I have carried many a child and ne'er once was I told I stomped."

"Yeah, well," Athena said; her head shaking as she smiled; for which Juliet merely shoved her shortly with narrowed eyes and the perfect pretence of being offended.

Princess Juno spoke before Athena could say any more, "All is well within the Household, I hope?" all while Lord Peridan moved and managed to pull Princess Octavia from his back and onto his lap.

"Aye, all is well." Juliet responded, turning to the Archen princess and finally letting Arthur go to pick his wooden sword back up, "Come a week from now thou wouldst have a new maid."

The Princess seemed surprised, "You found one?! Ever… well! Who is she?"

Her excitement almost seemed to Juliet very much alike Lady Evenford's own as she had left the library, and almost at once she decided she had made a good choice, "Her name is Galiath Evenford," she informed as she offered the Princess the two scrolls she had been carrying, "Terabinthian by birth, yet she served in length upon thy country, therefore speak'st thy tongue; all thy queries about her shall be answered by those letters, and all else by me if thou wouldst ask."

"Thank you, Juliet." The Princess said, reaching sideways to her for a little embrace that ended swiftly as she held onto her scrolls.

"Can we continueeee?" Arthur said; elongating the word and even bouncing in place for the drama he had well inherited from his mother. "Dulet can be my squire!"

"A squire am I?" the protector voiced, feigning surprise as she did. "Who and wherefore am I squiring?"

"The King of Paravel!" Arthur exclaimed, lifting his sword in the air as if it had been a battle cry.

"The King is evil," It was Lord Peridan who spoke, explaining with a smile across his face, "He wishes to kidnap the princess, who is held by the good cave troll," at this, Athena not only pointed at herself, but lifted the doll with her other hand, "and is under the protection of Princess Tavi of the chocolates." At that, the curly haired lord looked down at the princess on his lap and ticked her softly, until the giggles of the three year old echoed all around them with joy.

"Why, I would love to help," Juliet admitted, settling upon her place, "yet Octavia looks tired and I do believe I hath promised King Arthur that we would build a great castle out of his blocks once I hath done my duties."

"YES!" Arthur replied, rising his sword in the air again as if he were going to battle.

"Go on, then." Juliet smiled, nodding. "Leave thy sword, and bring the trunk, I'm sure thy aunts and uncle would love to help as well." The young Prince did not have to be told twice; the wooden sword clattered on the ground near Athena, and off went Arthur to move some toys away from the top of the blocks trunk to be able to play with everyone in the room. "Any word yet from the Northern hall?" the Italian asked meanwhile, looking at each of the faces of her friends.

"None," Athena said, taking the wooden sword from the ground and holding it on her lap alongside the doll that had been a princess in their last pretence, "It's been going for hours; I'm starting to regret voting out of participating on this one."

"Aye, me alike." Juliet admitted, "But naught a soul couldst blame thee for wishing to stay away when this thy growing child hast had thee so ill of late."

"Ugh," Athena nodded with a roll of her eyes, "Don't even remind me; I don't know how you could have done this so many times. I have a brand new sort of respect for you, Juliet."

"Thanks," she smiled, forcefully as she might have for the reminder of how  _many_ times she had had go through such a thing, still, "Though help will come if thou ask for it, I assure you, I am here and thus will be through it all if thou doth wish it."

The warrior nodded, "I will, I'm sure of it. Thank you," she smiled, though swiftly looked to her brother for the sake of the original subject. "I do wonder, though, how is it possible for one little piece of news to take them so long to speak of?"

Still holding the princess in his lap, who had only curled against his chest and rested there perfectly relaxed, Lord Peridan shrugged shortly, "I told them everything I knew:" he informed, "That the unrest in Telmar was getting worse and worse according to our sources; all the time spent speaking in the hall could perhaps be used to prepare for war."

"Think'st thou it will come to that?" Juliet wondered with a little frown upon her forehead as she and Athena helped Arthur with the trunk full of blocks he wished to put in the middle of their wide playing circle, "That the Telmarines will come so far as to wish for war?"

Lord Peridan nodded, "I believe so, but… many think our rightful kings and Queens to have magic in their hands, I remember it being told in Tashbaan all that time ago, perhaps such tales might keep the peace in the realm until a time can come that we can speak  _of_  peace with Telmar as well."

"It would be a shame to have war once again," Princess Juno said as she accepted a bunch of coloured blocks from Arthur's hands, "Specially now, when my brother is so intent on finding a new Queen; it would be swell to have both countries united in celebration instead of war."

"Indeed," Juliet agreed, "But if they wilt war to come, then the Telmarines, too, shall learn Narnia and Archenland are two strong forces that stand together, and we will endure."

"If I had a cup, I'd toast to that," Athena said.

"Ah, but you're pregnant." Lord Peridan replied, "It'd better be water on that cup instead of wine, sister."

The warrior almost rolled her eyes again, but that smile upon her lips was enough to make everyone else laugh when she said, "Har, har."

And so it was that the four people who would be known as the four pillars of Narnia in not but a year remained, smiling, laughing, living and playing with the young children in the castle whilst the Pevensies and King Lark spoke of the future of the country; unworried, hopeful, and even joyous as they helped the little Prince to build a castle out of wooden blocks, not knowing that this would be but the first of many conversations the four would have about the Telmarines without the other Kings and Queens.

The last year of the Golden Age had begun.


	61. Chapter 61

 

─ ♚ ─

_**September 2** _ _**nd** _ _**NY 1015** _

The slow breeze of the ending summer made the trees of the courtyard dance, even so deeply as to make a couple of leaves twirl downwards from the top of the apple tree Juliet Capulet sat under until they rested softly upon the little table set for the tea offered between two Queens and a faun that day; the sun was not as warm as it might have been in the middle of the beloved summer, but still, it allowed the ease of all those present regardless of the thin fabrics that wrapped warmth around their bodies. A pair of wondrous birds sang from the top of the tree, the waves of the ocean crashed against the rocks miles below, and the laughter of her children echoed so beautifully near her as a joyful melody for the young-looking Queen that suddenly the day felt as perfect as she had not possibly have been able to imagine it could have become that morning, when a dire pain upon her lower back had made the tears begin to flow at once regardless of the normalcy of it on someone of her advanced condition.

Indeed, time had changed her body once more; it had made it grow, stretch and shift well and beautifully enough to hold life within her and therefore join Queen Athena and Queen Susan—who had barely two weeks prior announced her shared happiness with King Lark and her family—on the expectancy of new life; feared and hollow as the joyous situation might have become for the three lifeless outcomes of those pregnancies after Princess Octavia's birth, but still, wait and expect was all she could do. That morning she had been almost sure she had been about to lose a fourth, but the beloved physician had assured her through the tears and broken heart she attempted to comfort that the only thing she had felt had been the child's kicks against her spine, "It all feels normal, you have my word," she had said, "Though if thou fail'st to relax, now that the term rests upon its final stage it could be thy worry and thy fear that ends this life." It had become enough to quiet the crying Queen's tears at once. "Be merry, Juliet, your child is healthy, alive, and growing within you even six weeks before its birth, that on its own is a victory you were not able to claim the previous two times, and it proves the strength of this pregnancy; thus, day by day, my dearest Queen, fear not, for you have passed the hardest time."

It had been, in fact, those words and Edmund Pevensie's encouragement that had stopped her from cancelling her plans with Queen Susan and Mr. Tumnus; after all, the physician had become the third person to best know her body and her curses after Edmund and herself, and if she encouraged the lively lifestyle she led, then no fear, nightmare or worry should stand in Juliet's way. She wished she could thank her husband once again, for as much the support as the happiness he brought into her life every single day regardless of the six sorrows she could name, but as her eyes searched for his upon a glance to the chess table mere feet away from the one she sat at, the joy on his features as he began to claim Athena was about to lose made it impossible to interrupt him away from his game; god, even those words alongside that smile and the brightness of his brown eyes were enough to send a spell of love so deep into her heart that she was sure that child inside her could feel it too,  _'tis true, my dearest love,_ she thought as her one free hand softly comforted the giant swell of her belly,  _I love thy father, how couldst I not? And thou wilt love him too when thou doth meet him, I am sure of that._

"Nevertheless, your majesty, I must protest," the faun close beside her said, pulling all thoughts of love and perfection away from Juliet's mind; though to what, she was not entirely sure, for that single breeze had pulled her mind so softly away onto the beauty of her life that even the conversation she had been having with Susan and the beloved faun had gone unattended, "If you were to give such a tea in a wedding, I would think it a travesty; 'tis too sour for that."

Well, whatever the conversation had shifted to, Juliet was glad to hear her beloved sister-in-law laugh, "You would go so far as that, Mr. Tumnus? I am shocked." Even the laughs coming from Arthur and Octavia seemed to join her own; though all could perfectly well understand that those beautiful giggles came for no other reason than the tickling threat of Princess Juno's hands as the three of them ran around the table where Edmund and Athena played with his gold and silver chess set. "I guess we are lucky you were not in charge of choosing the tea for  _my_ wedding."

"Oh, but that was good tea, wasn't it, Queen Juliet?" Mr. Tumnus said, forcing Juliet's gaze away from the fun her children seemed to be having, "If I remember well, you drank three cups."

"Aye, indeed, and I believe more than that the next day," she lifted the pretty cup onto her lips and sipped; well, Mr. Tumnus  _was_ right about that specific one: it was very sour. Still, she was careful to set the cup down on its saucer again with a smile on her lips; not even sour tea could take her joy away that day, "Though I pray thee, ask me not of teas, for I remember naught of them other than those I have had here," she motioned to the many pots upon the table and the labels written in parchment before them, "Hast thou ordered leaves to be brought from all over the world?"

Susan nodded shortly as the pretty echoes of a familiar bell came from the further end of the gardens, pushing back long locks of luscious hair that had threatened to fall over her shoulder, "Or as many as I could have imported; it was Lucy and Mr. Tumnus' idea."

"Still unable to defeat the master?" Edmund said close behind them, loudly enough, at least, that all those around the tea table turned to look in his direction; he seemed to be smirking and leaning back against his chair in such a way that rested smug upon his victory, and though that did not seem to amuse Queen Athena in the least judging by the raised brow and a lack of smile, Juliet Capulet could seldom hold back the grin from her own lips or the short giggle that followed when her husband so easily looked in her direction and winked. Incredible as it seemed, even after the many years they had been together, there were things he did everyday that still could make the young-looking Queen feel as if a hoard of butterflies had decided to make home within her stomach. "Admit it," he continued, once he looked back in his best friend's direction and lifted both his brows once, "after fifteen years you still cannot beat me." A single roll of Athena's eyes seemed to encourage him enough to release a breathed chuckle of his own, "Maybe next time, eh? There's always hope."

Even Lucy, beautiful and grown as she stood looking over the balcony onto the waves of the familiar ocean below, was smiling fully over the lack of amusement of her friend; though it was a smile that swiftly broke when some sort of pain seemed to jolt the warrior so immediately that a single wince escaped her lips, and then the valiant girl, beloved from the start by all within that world, began walking in Athena's direction at once. Even Juliet's hands let go of the tea cup she had picked up again to rest upon her own swollen stomach, as if that alone were to soothe her friend herself; but alas, any and all sorts of complaints or regards of worry onto the High Queen were completely interrupted when the reason for the tolling bells came to be known: it was High King Peter and Lord Peridan arriving familiarly upon their horses onto the Southern gardens with great smiles of joy lifting their lips.

"Welcome home, King Peter," Athena said at once, evidently deciding to ignore any sort of pain she felt once the arrival of her husband came; that much Juliet admired of her. Even after eight pregnancies and four births, she still did not know how to hide or ignore her own pains.

"Didan!" Came the pretty call from Princess Octavia, who at once broke from the playful run she had been taking part of with her brother and Princess Juno to instead trot in the direction of the dismounting Earl, who so immediately looked in her direction and did not even hesitate to open his arms when he realised the little girl had moved to jump into them.

"Oof," he said through laughter once he caught her, though exaggerating as he held her easily against his hip, "Hello to you as well, Princess Tavi."

Peter, on the other hand, dismounted without a tackling toddler running in his direction and the very smile he had been carrying from the moment Juliet noticed him well stretched upon his lips, "My," Lucy said the moment Peter reached them and leaned down to place a kiss against his wife's cheek, "Someone's a bit smug this day."

The High King didn't even try to deny the accusation, "It's only because of the news I bring," he responded, smug enough as he rested a hand on Athena's shoulder and looked to Peridan, who approached them all with a happy Princess in his arms. He was smiling, too, though Juliet suspected it was more for the friendship he had built with little Octavia in his arms than the news Peter brought with him.

And, well, whatever those news were, everyone's curiosity as she, Susan and Mr. Tumnus rose from their seats became clear enough when Edmund said, "Well, what is it?"

Juliet watched as her brother-in-law made a complete show of readjusting his crown atop his head before he simply cleared his throat and finally said: "The White Stag has been seen in Narnia."

Well, the news surely had been something worth the dramatic pauses, if Juliet could judge; after all, there were tales everywhere around the world as strong as the tales of her own life of the White Stag who was seen rarely and could make any wish come true to that who caught it. Even the excitement of everyone around her matched the weight of such news; chess games or concoctions of tea were entirely forgotten as the surprise and joy echoed through everyone's lips. Everyone, at least, except Athena, who seemed so serious and forlorn that for a second Juliet began to worry that her waters had broken or something bad had begun to happen to the baby inside her; and she'd been about to approach her and ask what was wrong when Queen Susan herself reached for Juliet's hand over the excitement spoken so easily by the High King.

When Juliet looked back, Athena's lips were lifted in as much a smile as everyone else's, so any worry escaped from the Protector's mind at once. "Actually," it was Peridan who spoke and forced her eyes back towards the joy of the announcement, bouncing little Octavia softly on his arms and basking in the joy of her giggles at once, "It was  _I_ who spotted the Stag," He said as if in a secret to the princess, though everyone else could hear, "But your uncle, His Imperial Majesty, would never dare admit it,"

Another little giggle left the little princess as she hugged the Earl's neck, and while she did, Lucy stepped forward at once in direction of her oldest brother, "Are we all to come with you?" she wondered with a smile. "Oh, please, Peter, I haven't been on a proper hunt since… well, since  _forever_."

That, of course, was an exaggeration, but still, it didn't take long for Peter to nod a couple of times in agreement to the offer; barely a second later, when Lucy nearly jumped out of her shoes with excitement, Susan took a step forward as well, away from Juliet, "May I put forward an offer to travel with you two as well?" She said, smiling so absolutely happily that all Juliet could truly think of was the day she had put forward the newsof her pregnancy.

Clearly she wasn't the only one to think such a thing, "Should you be?" Peter wondered almost at once, "In your condition?"

"I am, at most, fourteen weeks with child, Peter," the Gentle Queen replied at once, and Juliet didn't even have to look at her face to know that there was a near knowing smirk lifting those full crimson-tainted lips of hers, "I am not an invalid, I can ride just fine."

"Aye, unlike Athena and I; thus we stay." Juliet joked, motioning to the great swell of her stomach with a little hopeful shrug.

Within the smiles and laughter, not too far from any of them, and definitely surprising Juliet who hadn't even noticed her husband move behind her with all the excitement, Edmund scoffed, "I'm very much appreciating your decision to go hunting without me: your  _beloved_ brother." Of course she had jumped, but upon the little sly smirk upon his lips, the only one of the group who had not changed one bit physically save for her growing belly simply smiled, and moved back to rest gently against the one person who had turned her world entirely upside down all those years before.

It was absolutely not a matter of whether he was going or not, regardless of the jest his lips pretended with what he spoke, but a fact that he had simply been assumed to be willing to go; it was for it that he did not really wait for a reply but instead simply kissed Juliet's cheek and said, "Peridan, would you mind preparing Phillip and some horses for the girls?"

Only when it was Peter who replied did Edmund look up again, "That's if he's not joining us," It really had been Peter who'd changed the most, with his shoulder-length hair, the beard adorning of his jaw and the age of his eyes; even the crown seemed to fit him better; he looked every bit the High King he was called to be. "After all, he  _is_ the one who found the stag, I  _will_  admit," And such an aged gaze only shifted to look specifically in the Earl's direction as he set Princess Octavia onto her feet once again, "What say you, Peridan? Will you join us on our hunt?"

But the Earl seemed to have enough of horses for one day, for he lifted a single hand, and shook his head, "Maybe next time, your majesty. I have a mind to finally deal with those papers I have been ignoring since this morning,"

"Ah," said Peter with a nod; and so every single detail of their outing was soon after arranged.

Of course, Juliet simply followed alongside her husband on the little walk it would take from the spot under Susan's apple orchard to the stables near the Northern gates, where it had been settled he and his sisters would meet with the horses to return to the southern courtyard to leave onto the hunt from there in no more than ten minutes; they walked hand in hand as they might once have done upon a dalliant stroll before any idea of a marriage had come, speaking of the plans of the continuing day and how perhaps Juliet would take advantage of their absence to sneak in a moment of sleep, speaking of something so simple as the teas she had shared with Mr. Tumnus and the Queen, and in the end rising a single thought when the two finally stood as close as Juliet's belly allowed them, to wait for everyone else, "I think we might have an agreement, your majesty." She said, smiling up at him and all the differences that had come with time.

He didn't keep a beard like his brother, but it was not because he couldn't grow one, he simply didn't like them, and his hair had always been kept short, but everything else had changed; once upon a time he had been shorter than she, eventually even her same height, and now, well, now she did have to smile up at him and look into eyes that, just like Peter, showed every single thing he had lived through. Though dared she think it was much more than the High King? After all, there he stood, the betrayer of Narnia redeemed, smiling, happy, holding her with all the love he held within his heart and voicing a single "Hm?" as he pressed a kiss against her lips; those brown eyes of his carried every single thing he had lived, and regardless of all that it had been, he was still joyful, beloved and loving as he held her in his arms, "What's that?" he asked.

Ever as many times as she could say it, Juliet Capulet was proud of the man her husband had become, "If this here be a boy," she replied, lowering one of her hands to rest at the side of her grown stomach, "I believe we  _should_  call him William, like thy brother, and Ella if 'tis a girl."

"Mm, good," the King said, touching his nose to hers for a moment as he did, "What about Marie? You didn't like that?"

Juliet nodded at once, "Aye, indeed, though thou wouldst e'er have one name be of my country, thus I thought: Maria, if a girl, Mario if a boy."

The king softly chuckled, "William Mario?" His head began to shake, "Poor lad,"

A single shove against his chest proved Juliet's displeasure, even if she was smiling, "Hast thou a better idea, then?"

His head shook, "No, but I have a feeling that this here is an Ella Maria," he admitted whilst placing a hand on top of hers, protectively over as much her as the child kicking under their hands, "You're ever less ill when it's a girl, and I have rarely seen you be sick these past months."

To that much, at least, Juliet had to nod in agreement; living or dead, she had given birth to two boys and two girls, and ever she had been unable to keep many meals down when she had been pregnant with boys; with Octavia and Elizabeth, she had barely been sick at all. And so it was this time, so perhaps Ella it would be. She was about to admit to such a thing, in fact, when the echo of hooves and steps reached them from the side; there came Peridan, with Phillip held securely by his reins on one hand, and the two horses from the other, "Indeed, we shall have to speak more of this, then." Juliet said, looking back at her husband with a smile upon her lips, "When thou come'st back; no agreement made, though I hath thought it done."

"When I come back," Edmund vowed, leaning down softly to press another kiss to her lips; when he pulled away, Peridan had reached them and that smile upon his lips seemed to be unable to disappear. "Thanks, Dan." Edmund told their friend as he took Phillip's reins, "You sure you don't want to come along? You deserve this wish more than Peter does just for seeing the stag first."

To no one's surprise, the Earl nodded his head, "I'm sure; better get to those papers, or they shall never get done."

Edmund snorted almost at once, "Like you'd ever let anything go amiss in this country." He joked, "Even something so mundane as papers."

Not too long after, Susan and Lucy both came running down the northern stairs to where the little group rested; apparently having made a wager as to who could get changed into their hunting gear the fastest. Edmund clearly hadn't even thought to change; at least no more than the cape he had been donning that morning and had been carried on Phillip's back, and so everyone, holding onto the reins of their own horses, began to make their way back to the courtyard near Susan's apple orchard after Peridan had headed inside the castle once again. "Do you really think we'll catch it?" Lucy wondered as they went.

Without letting go of Juliet's hand or Phillip's reins, Edmund snorted once again, "Maybe  _you_  won't, but I will."

"Really, Juliet, how do you put up with this arrogance?" Susan wondered with a little smile.

To which the soft Protector had been unable to do much than simply lift her shoulders in a shrug and say, "Unfortunately, sister, I am in love."

"That's right," Edmund said, proud even through that smile. "You tell them, wife," As if he were not calling himself arrogant alike simply by agreeing to the words spoken around him and about him.

Thus they were all laughing when they finally reached the gates of the courtyard, near where Peter and Athena seemed to be talking with one another as intensely as they ever did, "Come on, Peter!" Lucy called, as the two Queens began to fully prepare to mount their horses.

And though Edmund had moved to get on his horse as well, Juliet stopped him with a single hold of her hands on his shirt, "Ah," she said, as if he were about to do something as stupid as leaving without saying a proper goodbye regardless of the many times they had kissed during the past five minutes. He faced her, nonetheless, and soon after her hands began soothing his shirt in place, "Remember my love for thee as you go," she began, looking only into the familiarity of those deep brown eyes with every single speck of love she held for them and their owner, "Evermore, I wouldst but beg thee not to be reckless if I thought mine words would do more than play like mindless wind against thy cape, thus hear my prayer instead: be careful." She warned, though that smile she had been unable to break refused to disappear even then, "Less thy majesty wouldst rather deal with mine hands against thy wounds, and we hath already done thus once with naught a good result."

But as his hands wrapped around her frame once again, nothing but a small flirtatious chuckle escaped his lips, "I remember liking it enough."

God, even that smile of his did things to her heart; how and wherefore she would wonder endlessly, but indeed, she was in love, and that was reason enough not to question the amount of affection she held for Edmund Pevensie, King of Narnia, whom she swiftly pulled down from the clasp of his cloak to be able to press a kiss against his lips once more. One which had him laughing even against her lips or smiling wildly once she pulled away, "Yet not I, who hath but to see the pain upon thy features to hate every second of it; thus, heed my warning, mine King, 'less I would deal with thee."

"Oh," Edmund feigned a small tremble of fear that only made Juliet's lips break deeper onto their smile, "and we don't want that, do we?"

Though with some feigned annoyance after a single shove of her hand against his chest, Juliet still moved to mock a bow in her husband's direction and turned about to head towards the castle; as if she were some sort of powerful being that had set the Just King in his place simply by the words spoken. Behind her, she heard the welcome and familiar laugh of her husband, and so she was more than perfectly happy when the warmth of the castle completely engulfed her and encouraged her at once to head in the direction of the room she shared with him; she'd been tired, as that scare from the morning had left her, and now, with not a single thing to do in the castle, her children playing with Princess Juno and possibly even Athena once she and Juno were the only ones left in the courtyard, and the rest of her family gone on a happy hunt, it appeared to be the perfect moment to sleep; simply take a nap, and rest, so that she could be perfectly full of energy when her husband returned, and she could hear every single detail of the hunting of the White Stag, and the very wish it was sure to grant.

♦

The smile continued on his lips from the laughter his wife's silliness had brought when he turned around to try fixing Phillip's saddle; he had accidentally pulled on it when he'd tried mounting and had been stopped by Juliet for the little goodbye she had attempted, and so fixing it became first on his list of things to do before they departed. As he fixed it, though, the echo of his children's laughter reached him much faster and more violently than he could have thought, when a familiar little tackle came against one of his legs the way Lord Peridan had had to face with open arms, "Papa, take me with you!"

Even if she hadn't spoken, Edmund would have known exactly who it had been that had taken hold of his leg; indeed, when he looked down, the pretty brown eyes of his daughter looked up at him, and it took everything within his heart not to easily place her atop Phillip at once and do as she commanded. "I can't, your tiny majesty." He said instead with the little name he had called her ever since she could understand, reaching down to pick her up and even managing to hold her with one hand whilst he placed a strand of her brunette hair behind her ear, "I have to go alone on this adventure with your Aunts and Uncle, but I can bring you that purple flower you love so much to make up for it, how's that?"

Ever since she had been able to walk, Violetta had been one to follow him around instead of Juliet, and so she was more like him than even his wife would dare admit; so it was absolutely no surprise when, regardless of the little giggle that left her lips, the little three year old immediately tried to negotiate with her father at once, "And we can play with 'Hilip and Aunt Theeny when you get back?"

Finally he understood what people meant with that saying  _an apple does not fall far from the tree,_ "Of course we can," he was so absolutely proud of his little girl that it did not matter that she was only three years old, he meant his promise as strongly as if it had been made to a dignitary of some land far off. He simply pressed a little kiss to her cheek and basked on her little giggles before he moved to set her down on her feet again, "Now, go play with your brother." He encouraged, "And when she wakes up, tell your mother I'll be back before dinner." He laughed gently as his little girl ran off with a smile so wide he was shocked her little cheeks didn't hurt; when Arthur turned about and waved bye happily in his direction, a little reminder of that morning made the King quickly exclaim something else: "And no pulling on Arthur's hair, Violetta! Remember that it hurts."

"Yes, papa!" Called the little princess as she ran; not knowing that, come the morning, there would only be one person left within that castle that called her by that name.

It was not long after the two little siblings had gone off to continue playing that all but Peter rested mounted on their horse; in fact, he had begun walking in Athena's direction once again when Princess Juno spoke up, "You must all make sure you're back before sundown," even her eyes shifted their gaze from royal to royal until they stopped on Peter himself, "I'm sure Lord Peridan would like to avoid sending out a search party again."

With a single pat to the pouch at the side of her saddle, Susan said, "I have my horn just in case. We don't know how far the Stag has travelled from its last sighting."

"What?!" Edmund almost exclaimed, holding onto Phillip's reins as he turned to look in his older sister's direction at once. "How long do you actually think this will take?" He almost scoffed again. "By the lion, never mind! You girls wait at the castle, I'll get the stag myself."

Through four rolling eyes, not one person said a thing but Peter, who had reached his wife at last and moved to hold her hands softly and with every speck of love so evident Edmund almost became sick, "I'll be back as soon as I can, I swear," the High King said, lifting her hands to kiss.

The youngest King was almost thankful he could only see his best friend's face through all of this, "Take as long as you need, Peter," she told him, "Remember what I told you—"

"That you'll be fine, I know." Peter agreed, surely something they had spoken off while Edmund, his sisters and Juliet had gone for the horses, "Just don't go anywhere, okay?" One of his hands then let go of Athena's to rest on the swell of her stomach, which was definitely bigger than Juliet's and much more imminent to soon pop; clearly Edmund was not the only one to think so, "And you too!" Peter said to the baby growing inside his wife, "I know you may be small, but that doesn't mean you can't get away with being early. Wait for your father to arrive first, little one." And with that, he spoke to his wife again, pulling her into an embrace at once, "Stay safe, my love. Be strong."

The answer from Athena's arms was so tight against Peter's frame that if Edmund didn't know better he would have sworn it had been meant to be an eternal farewell; but whatever strangeness came from such a display, the Just king decided his best friend's peculiarities were only being heightened by the hormones of a pregnancy—he'd seen enough of that with Juliet's many—, so when a passionate kiss and two declarations of love finally became the couple's goodbye and Peter finally mounted his horse, Edmund did not have to be told twice before he encouraged Phillip to gallop as fast as he could into the Narnian woods.

The directions explained by Peter were easy to follow, and so he was almost always trying to keep ahead of all of them as they went; still, for a while Peter and Susan were first, and though once or twice he managed to actually be the first along the little line of monarchs that galloped behind the Stag once it was seen again, eventually Peter galloped faster and Susan alike; every time she passed him, she laughed, and Lucy continued to encourage him from behind. That is, until even she passed him and not one sense of pride could be left within his mind; only for a second he truly wished it was a wild horse he was riding so he could kick his heels against his sides, but Phillip knew best, and so they continued to follow the stag on and on onto Lantern's Waste, by which time the sun had almost shifted to the other side of the sky… continued galloping, that is, until Phillip simply slowed to a walk and finally stopped by the side of an ivy covered tree.

 _That_  was definitely not normal, "You alright, Phillip?" Edmund wondered, leaning to the side to attempt getting a look at the horse's eyes.

Granted, it had been a while since he had to ride his horse for hours upon hours in a day, but still, never once had Phillip simply stopped in the middle of a hunt; so when the horse responded almost out of breath, "I'm not as young as I once was," the truth of such a statement made him almost feel guilty for wishing him to be a wild horse.

If he had been, then Edmund wouldn't have been able to be told and made to remember that he wasn't the only one growing older; clearly having an immortal for a wife was messing with his head. It wasn't too long after his realisation that the whinny of the other horses came from the direction his siblings had disappeared to, and in came the three again, lead by Susan in her brown horse with a smile across her lips, "Come on, Ed." She said, turning her stallion about to face him.

Should he tell them that Phillip was tired? The pride of a horse was the speed with which it galloped; it wouldn't be fair to make it seem as if his friend had begun to lose his strength. But clearly the decision had been made as he smoothed the horse's mane and said, "Just catching my breath."

"Well, that's all we'll catch at this rate," The eldest Queen said with the breathlessness of a short laugh.

"What did he say, again, Susan?" Lucy wondered, turning her horse to stand by her sister's and looking in Edmund's direction.

The amusement in both his sisters was not lost on him when Susan replied in a voice so mocking that he would have been insulted if it had been anyone but her, "'You girls wait at the castle, I'll get the stag myself."

Well, what else was there left to do for him other than roll his eyes as both his sisters and Peter laughed at the plainness of the reality that proved his words wrong; he was not about to give his horse's secrets up simply for the sake of his pride. At least, not for  _that_  horse, who had long become a friend as trusted as Lord Peridan himself in all the time they had lived together. Instead, he simply smiled, waiting until the laughter had subsided so that perhaps Phillip could catch many more breaths before continuing on with the hunt; he was not able to wait that long, in the end, for something close to Edmund's side had caught Peter's attention, and by the time the laughter had actually quieted, the High King had dismounted his horse with a single wondrous, "What's this?"

Indeed, what the  _hell_ was that he had confused for a tree when he had seen it on his peripheral vision? When he looked at it after following his brother's gaze, he couldn't help but shortly frown over the strange colour of its trunk; it was black, pitch black but for the dirt covering its roots, it was, as he had noted before, covered in ivy, but he had never seen a tree of such a texture or colour before; and as he dismounted alike his sisters and followed the trunk up and up with his gaze to at least two meters above his head, he noted the crystal squares that kept a light flickering safely within. It was a strange little concoction, but for some reason, "Seems familiar," Peter said, in perfect mirror to the echoes in his mind; because indeed, it seemed to strangely familiar that Edmund couldn't do anything more than simply stare up at the little dancing flame.

 _Of course_ , he thought,  _it seems familiar because we're standing in Lantern's Waste, it's part of our realm._  But he did not say such a thing because even the thought of it felt wrong; no, that was not the reason it felt familiar; clearly the thing before him was some sort of great torch, but…  _why does it look like something I've seen before?_ "As if from a dream," Susan offered, frowning beside him with a curious expression.

But no, that did not feel right either; if it were from a dream he would remember it, he was great at remembering those. "Or a dream of a dream," Lucy continued, but that made even less sense; in fact, he'd been about to voice such a thought when the wildness of his younger sister's voice spoke again before anyone else could: "Spare Oom?"

Well, what the bloody hell was  _that_ supposed to mean? He'd wanted to ask; he'd even turned and parted his lips to do it, but by the Lion, Lucy Pevensie had never been one to explain things before they happened, and so, like ever, before anyone could even think anything else about it, the youngest Queen had ran off in the direction opposite to where Edmund was standing. "Lucy!" both he and Peter exclaimed.

"Not again," Susan echoed; but what other option did they have than to follow their younger sister onto whatever little adventure she would lead them next?

They walked past many trees, many branches and yellowing leaves, they stepped over rocks, broken twigs and beds of flowers, and still the worry of not only having lost the White Stag but whatever Lucy was leading them towards, made a cautious, "Lu?" escape from Edmund's lips again.

Still, nothing answered him other than a joyous "Come on!" From his curious sister's smile.

So on they went; for the first time since the second trouble with Ettinsmoor, Edmund's heart was beating wildly against his chest. How long had it been since he had gone in an adventure? Oh, more than the hunting of the White Stag, imagine all of the wonderful things he would be able to tell Juliet when he returned to the castle!  _We found some weird iron torch in the middle of Lanter's Waste, and you won't believe what we found…!_ Of course, at that moment even he didn't know how that story would end, but still he continued passing the trees with a sort of excitement he had not felt in years until the space became smaller and smaller and smaller and, "These aren't branches." Peter said ahead of him, and Edmund didn't know what he meant; where he stood branches still poked at his sides.

But when Susan completed the thought by saying, "They're coats…" Edmund finally saw it: fluffy wide things that clearly resembled coats all placed in two lines so parallel that there barely was any space to fit through; but through they continued to go, him and his siblings. If he had known exactly what was going to happen, the young King would have stopped walking right then and there, he would have took a deep breath, said  _never mind this adventure_ and turned back around to mount Phillip and return to his wife and children—never mind the stag, never mind the coats, never mind the lantern that had so started the little side journey—but the truth was that he did not know, and so he continued walking until the softness of the coats basically engulfed him, it swallowed him whole leaving only his head above the fluffiness around him over his height.

"Lucy, you're on my foot!" Peter exclaimed ahead of him, and so continued the complaints from his other siblings as they moved forward in a space as small as that; for one, his mind wondered how it was that coats had ended up hanging in the middle of a forest, but for the other, with every step he took, he more wondered why it was that when before the fluffiness had been upon his arms and chest, now the fur of the coats was slowly travelling up his nose, or above his head. Why was it that when Peter's voice had been a deep echo before, now nothing but a teenage squeak escaped him, and his own… Suddenly he didn't feel very tall, very strong, or very agile, his heart was still beating wildly so that remained familiar but all else…

And then light came upon him blindingly as he fell down without a warning hard on painfully solid floor; god, it had hurt, his knees had hit bare and weakly against the wood under her him and—wait, wood? How had his knees hit on wood instead of grass or rock, he was in a forest, not a room; why were his knees bare instead of covered by the trousers he had chosen to wear that morning; Why had the light of the sun suddenly blinded them so horribly, and above all, why was Susan kneeling behind him looking no older than the twelve year old girl he had nearly forgotten she had once been?

Her big blue eyes looked into his with a sort of confusion mixed with worry that he simply didn't understand, one that almost scared him, and one that, in the end, became entirely clear when his own gaze lifted away from her impossibly young face to look at the great wooden wardrobe behind her. Just like that, every single thing he had so horribly forgotten came back into his mind; the war, the hate, the trip on train from London to Kent, the Professor, the spare room, the wardrobe…  _No,_ he thought, his eyes fixed on the intricate details surrounding the wardrobe's door, the pretty shades of brown, the many coats within that blocked the view even of its end, or as he hoped the lack thereof;  _no_ , he thought as his gaze very easily fell to his own feet, laying there covered with his old school shoes or the long socks that nearly reached his knees;  _no, no,_ he thought as the hand of the arm he wasn't leaning against rose to touch his chest, looking for the familiar fabric of his hand sawn shirt, or the lion brooch that held his cloak in place, but all he found was the small jumper that definitely would not have fit a man of the stature he had been only seconds before. Even his hands looked small, no rings rested there, no wedding band, and as his hand fell to the side of his hips, though he already knew he wouldn't find it, the hilt of his sword was nowhere to be seen.

He had to gulp, because suddenly nothing made sense, the wood under him felt wrong, the sun outside those windows felt wrong, the walls around him felt wrong;  _he_  felt wrong.  _No, no, no, no._ He thought over and over again; he wanted to get up from that awful wooden ground and run back inside the wardrobe, back to Phillip, back to his castle, he wanted to stop breathing at once unless his next breath would take him back,  _Juliet!_ He wanted to scream,  _Arthur! Violetta!_ He wanted to crawl, forget the weakness of his own limbs—for their tiny nature felt foreign to him—and just crawl back inside that wardrobe and get back to his family, get back to his country;  _you won't believe what just happened._ He wanted to say such a thing to his wife as he held her in his arms, as he put his hand on her swollen belly and laughed at the mistake that had almost taken her away from him.  _No, no, nO, NO, NO, NO._

But not a single world could leave his small lips, not a single movement could shift his small limbs; Susan's hand rested on her newly empty stomach, or so he could notice when he looked at her, but for the hollowness of her womb Edmund felt the hollowness of his own heart, he couldn't even think of anything other than rising from the ground and getting back, but as a wooden door opened behind him something deep within that ten year old mind of his told him that he wouldn't be able to. Nothing he did as a single "Oh… there you are." Echoed from an old forgotten professor lips behind him could shake him from the truth: Narnia was gone, and with it his whole family; he was back in England, he was ten again.

In no more than the blink of an eye, his whole life had been entirely and unfairly stolen away from him; Narnia was gone.

Its Golden Age had ended.


	62. EPILOGUE

─ ♚ ─

_She didn't care that she was pregnant, nor that the wild swiftness of her own actions could prove dangerous for the life that grew within her, she simply ran; she held up the danger of her long skirts and just ran. Because seeing him there, seeing him safe, seeing him getting off his horse with his bright smile, his wavy hair, the familiar sly brown eyes and the dirty hems of his cape and trousers, made relief flood into her heart and soul as swiftly as if he had come untouched from war instead of a simple hunt; and so when his arms opened in turn, she didn't even hesitate to crash against him, arms well around his neck and her face hiding on his shoulder, "Oh, I'm back." Edmund Pevensie said, muffled against the softness of her hair like a melody she never thought she'd hear again, "Thank the lion, I'm back."_

_It had been too long, it had all taken too long, a single hunt had turned into an agony in which too much had changed and too much had been thought lost, and so her heart, which had felt hollow for nearly two weeks, suddenly lifted and filled once again, until every single emotion she had suffered hit against his chest through her balled fists the second she pulled away from him. "I hate you," she told him, mindless of how his hands refused to fall away from her shoulders, mindless for the tears welling up on her eyes "Aye, I hate you for thy foolishness, for thy disappearance, for all thou hath left behind for me; I hate you!"_

_But his arms moved strongly to wrap around her again, "I'm sorry," he said, breathing as he tried to stop those striking hits, "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to—but you won't believe what happened. I thought I wasn't going to come back, I—Juliet, shh, I'm here. I'm back, I'm not going anywhere."_

_And so she cried, she held onto him strongly and entirely as he hid his face against her shoulder and she against his chest, "I hath thought thee lost." She mumbled against his clothes, but the strength of his own embrace helped to keep her whole; she didn't even care about everyone else who had arrived around them, she didn't care that the entirely of the castle could find their joy again, for that moment all that mattered was the safety of Edmund Pevensie as he rested in her arms, as she held onto him with all the strength that would allow her to be able to repeat over and over that he was back, that he was not lost, that the child within her would not have to grow up without a father, that Octavia wouldn't have to mourn her father, nor Arthur, that—_

" _So you're so happy to have me back that you have deemed it right to brand me?" Edmund said softly against her ear, and only once he spoke did the strange feeling in between her legs come to truly be noted and understood; almost immediately she pulled away from him, her eyes wide as the single motion forced her gaze to fall to the floor she had been standing against before; indeed, the grass was sparkly with liquid, and his boots shone with the same._ Branded.

_Almost at once a heat lifted onto the Protector's cheeks, invading and disheartening as she lifted her eyes to look at her husband once again, "My waters have broken…" Yes, against the dirt of Edmund's boots, it seemed. The echo of his joyous laughter seemed like music to her ears._

_She didn't even remember the many moments later, but suddenly as if in a blink of an eye she was lying sweaty upon a bed; there was a hand holding hers so tightly that the pain splitting her hips in half seemed almost to be triggered by such a touch, but when a short break of such horrors presented, it so happened that she realised the tightness came from her own hand, "You're almost there, love." Edmund said beside her, and Juliet's tired gaze was free to look in his direction again. "Almost certain you're trying to make me go through the same pain, but you're still almost there." There he was; smiling and laughing as a hand lifted to pull sweaty strands away from her forehead. He hadn't even been able to change from his formal clothes, even the crown still rested at the top of his head, but he was there, holding her hand and making her realise that it was his the one she had been about to break in two._

" _I can't," she had told him, tears streaking upon her cheeks as she did. "I can't, 'tis too much, I…"_

" _Yes, you can." Edmund told her, wrapping her hand in both of his, kissing her fingers, holding her hand against his chest, "You can do this, my queen, you can. I love you; you're so strong, I love you."_

" _Push, Juliet, now! Push!" Susan said, on her other side, holding her other hand and looking only in the direction of the physician for any needs she might have._

_So push she did; the pain spread throughout her spine until it felt like every single part of her had been ran over by a giant. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry and scream and cry some more, but her body begged her to push, and so with clenched teeth and an echo of agony she pushed and pushed and pushed… until a sudden relief came and every single edge of pain felt as if it had been nothing but a dream; she could breathe, she could cry once again, and above all she could rest against the pillows and wish for sweet sleep. "I love you so much," Edmund said as he kissed her hand, and though it was plastered with a layer of sweat soon after moved to kiss her forehead too. "So much, Juliet; I love you, I love you. My wife, my queen, my friend." There was a cry echoing throughout the room so beautifully that her heart so instantly felt alight, "I'll never let you go," Edmund continued, but Juliet's eyes had closed, "I'm here, I love you. Rest now, I'm always going to be here, I love you."_

_God, she wanted to stay there, she wanted to stay awake, to declare to him the love that would never give out, she wanted to hold her child, but something kept her eyes simply closed onto the world; all that was left was the echoes of her husband's love and the harsh cry wishing to make her head split in half. Her child was alive, but she was crying, and such a cry it was; it was getting louder and louder by the second, surely it would make the walls of the castle crumble if she did not stop it, "Ed," she said regardless of her weakness,_ make her stop _, she wanted to say, but she was much too weak and her baby continued to cry, and cry and cry and…_

_**September 16** _ _**th** _ _**NY 1015** _

… suddenly her eyes flew open onto a brightness that had not been there before, though the crying continued somewhere behind her; it was a brightness that felt wrong the second it was noted, her heart felt heavy, and the echo of her crying child brought no joy into it. "Ed…?" She asked, as if the softness of her dream could bring back the truths that could not be. But the second the name fell from her lips so did all the memories that finally made her sentiments make sense fell into her mind; it was not right, it was not fair, and as her hand reached and stopped upon the cold space on which her husband should have been resting, the gentleness of the dream she awoke from seemed almost torturous in its own demand. Cruel mind she had to concoct the very thing she wished had come to happen all those days before, restless lies that she would rather wish to live in than the emptiness she had to face as she forced herself to turn around towards the cry of her miraculously living child.

Unlike that dream, Edmund Pevensie  _had_ left her behind; he simply had never come back.

The truth was that she hadn't even had time to think of his absence too much; regardless of the strangeness it had shown for him to be gone well past the hiding of the sun—therefore much later than the King had said he would take—she had not been able to miss him too much for the first two days; not because she didn't note the empty space at the side of her bed, nor because she did not think a single hunt for a stag taking so long was ill fated, but because regardless of the exhaustion she had been fighting, when she had woken from her peaceful slumber the castle had already been in an uproar over the start of the High Queen's labour. Indeed, it had come what it felt like out of nowhere, but whether she liked it or not, whether Peter Pevensie was away hunting or not, the child the High Queen had hoped would come in more than a week simply decided it was time to come into the world, according to princess Juno, mere minutes after Susan, Lucy, Peter and Edmund had exited the southern gates.

Of course, the moment Juliet found out, heavily pregnant herself or not, she bolted in the direction of Athena's room, beautifully adorned and centred within the Northern Wing in such a way that it perfectly matched the magnificence of her husband's title; she had been present for the labour from the moment she had found out about it until it was done, and so the first day of the Kings and Queens' absence was shadowed by the birth of the High Prince of Narnia. Yes, a prince; a beautiful, plump little boy of great wide eyes and a cry to echo through the halls of the castle; it had been an arrival so beautifully expected that it had been not until Juliet had held the boy gently in her arms and watched the physician clean him— helping her the way she had many a time seen Susan do with as much her children as the many others brought forth by workers of the castle or pregnant nobles—that she even thought of the continued absence of the father of the child she held.  _Perhaps they chose to camp in the forest and will return in the morrow._

Yet there had been a certain echo of sorrow printed in Athena's exhausted features when the Soft Queen had turned about to see her that had brought back a sense of worry expertly hidden in her mind before; she seemed haunted, her eyes full of fresh tears that so evidently attempted to be hidden as she looked away from everyone around her, "'Tis alright, Athena." Juliet had tried to console, "Peter will return soon, you can have e'er other children that he can be present to see be born." After all, what else could possibly be upsetting her other than being without her husband for the birth of their first child? Well, whether it had been it or not, the High Queen's tears dried in such an empty manner that had only made Juliet frown—it had not been the joy of a brand new mother written on her features as she forced a nod, it had not been the love of a happy wife and mother making her eyes shine as she whipped her tears, but an emptiness, a mourning, a hollowness that had almost made her seem defeated as she lay on the birthing bed—and what was worse, when the young High Prince was clean, wrapped in the white swaddling clothes and ready to be put in the arms of his mother, Athena's arms did not even seem willing to rise to hold him.

"No," She said softly, her words broken through the dried tears and thus making them almost unable to be heard, "No, I don't… I don't want—"

But Juliet, being so close to her as she had been, had heard them just fine, "Nonsense," she had countered, frowning much deeper this time and moving to place the little boy perfectly on the crook of her friend's arm, "'Tis your boy; wish't thou not thy embrace to be the first he feels?" Then, and only then, did Athena's other arm rise, barely resting upon the swaddled body as if it were a mere task.

By the end of the second day, though, when not one word had been heard from the monarchs, worry had taken hold of Juliet Capulet, drowning her, making her unable to sleep, and eventually even making her unable to do anything other than sit upon the stairs of the throne room, which was the only place she could find heart to wait for any news to come from either the rest of her missing family, or Lord Peridan, who soon after had thought to lead a search party himself. She waited there for hours, her hands on her swollen belly, her cheeks full of tears as the sun rose and brightened the room all round her at the beginning of the third day, until a soft echo of steps reached her from the side, and the familiar yet extremely stoic gaze of Athena Ashdown met her own; she had worn a simple dress that didn't entirely seem to make her comfortable, her hair had been up in braids and pretty hair concoctions, her steps had made her seem every inch a Queen, but something behind that gaze of hers simply did not seem right for someone who had just become a mother; it all entirely felt wrong. "Athena, what—" Juliet had begun, rising from the steps only for the concern thrown within her heart at seeing the other walking at all, "Thou shouldst be resting, George—"

"Is with Princess Juno," Athena had interrupted her, almost immediately wrapping her arms around Juliet when she reached her, "Thanks for being there for me, for-for George's birth." Yet she spoke as if she referred to some other child, as if the birth Juliet had witnessed had not been that of her son; something was wrong, something far deeper than the absence that had already begun to drown her so wholly; but by the time the High Queen pulled away and asked "May I wait with you?" Juliet had simply fallen too much apart to even dare ask.

In the end it had been Athena who had comforted Juliet along the many hours in which they had waited together in that room, standing or sitting on the stairs as she had done before, the High Queen had held onto her with the strength of a friend and the distant sorrow of a wife who also waited for news of her husband; but even through her near emotionless expression or the small frown the Italian nearly came to think she had imagined, when the echoes of an arriving party had come, a small sense of hope had oozed from both Queens waiting for any news to come. When the main doors to the throne room opened, though, all sense of hope was lost.

"Lord Peridan," Athena had said, standing from the comfort she had given the moment recognition came into her mind; indeed, in had stepped Lord Peridan, clearly tired and so absolutely sorrowful upon his gaze that even if Juliet's eyes had not fallen to his hands she would have been able to know the news he carried at once: in them, as he kneeled before them, he held and offered her and his sister the well known golden and silver crowns of King Edmund and his brother, the High King. Almost at once Juliet's hands lifted to cover her lips, lest the echo of the sob she had to hold back become a scream to match the tears that began falling instantly to make a wreck of her cheeks. "The bodies?" Athena had asked as she reached for Peter's crown.

Through clouded eyes, as she reached for the silver concoction that had claimed her husband's title, Juliet had been able to see Lord Peridan rise from the ground, "There were no bodies," he'd said, "We found their crowns and their horses at the edge of Lantern's Waste; we even found Queen Susan's horn attached to her mare, but there was no sign of the Kings and Queens. No sign of what could have happened, no sign of struggle, nothing, all their tracks stop completely short south from the Waste, it's as if they disappeared, as if they're just…"

"Gone," Athena had said; nodding softly as her hands held tightly onto the crown in her hands. "You need say no more."

 _What's wrong with her?_ Juliet wondered as she pressed Edmund's silver crown against her chest; how could it be possible for her to keep her voice almost emotionless regardless of the sorrow that tainted at the edge of her words, how, when Juliet herself felt as if her heart had begun to break into a million little pieces, which made it impossible for her to stop herself from collapsing into tears against the stairs she had been sitting on before; when she fell, though, it was as if everything else within her body wished to fall apart too, for regardless of how she still had slightly more than five weeks before her term came to an end, just like in the dream that had awakened her upon that day in which she remembered everything past, her waters had broken and made the smoothness of the marble ground glisten under and in front of her.

Unlike the cruelty of her dream, though, no happiness had been able to take hold of her as she was carried by Peridan away into the depths of the Western wing; unlike that dream, no hand other than Athena's had been there to hold hers, no echoes of love had reached her from the lips of her husband, and when the crying of the new child reached her as miraculously as her prematureness could allow, the young mother had not been able to smile sweetly and entirely happily upon being able to hold another living child. Instead she had cried, she had cursed and cried, and when the wondrous physician had asked her for a name, all memories of an Italian address had escaped her mind, for all she had been able to think of was Edmund, his smile, his laugh, his love, and every single thing she had said upon his departure which had not been enough for an eternal farewell… "Ella Marie." Because they had not been able to choose upon anything more than the names both of them simply adored.

 _When I come back,_ he'd said, but he had never returned.

So the days had passed; each one feeling worse than the last as she began to be forced to tell her children the truth, as she broke her little girl's heart with the news that the father she loved so dearly would never return, as she told her five year old boy that he was to grow without a dad. Ever since, she had dreamed only of him, of how things should have been, of how she had first seen him standing by the side of the Great Lion, of how they had met, loved, married; every single second of their lives together had passed upon her mind, and every single time she woke she felt as if he had been stolen from her once again.

And now there she was, feeding little Ella and holding her close with all her will for the simple reality that from now on her children and that silver crown were the only things she had left of the man she had grown to love more than she had ever loved anyone in all of her existence; yes, there Juliet Capulet remained, no longer the lost Protector of Love, no longer the lost legend of Narnia, no longer the naïve, unsure girl who had agonised in a world of nothing or known life in no other way than borrowed minds, instead she was a Queen, an anchor of the world she loved, a compass to all those who would come thereafter, including the small remnant of her husband that she held in her arms, who would perhaps one day grow to be the only hope left behind in a world of chaos; including the two year old girl waking up somewhere in the room next to hers, who would perhaps one day become a great warrior and soldier of Narnia; including the boy who upon that day would turn six years old, and would perhaps one day grow into a handsome man alike his father and help the new High King with council as smart as any Edmund himself could have given at all. A family she never would have been able to imagine herself having, even amongst her wildest dreams.

And so the tales of the adventures lived within the Golden Age of Narnia and the adoration of an Earthly literary legend and a Narnian King would come to an end, with all hope gone alongside the originally crowned Kings and Queens, and the threatening darkness creeping under many minds within that Castle and all who slept without.

Far and safe from the long ignored place where a man known as Caspian I was planning an invasion against the newly grieving land.

**End of Book One**

─ ♚ ─

**ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:**

First of all, I would like to thank Lloyd, the one person in this whole world without whom this story simply would not have happened; it all started with a wild open starter on tumblr so well written that even though we had not spoken once before I had to ask him if I could reply. From there, Juliet and Edmund simply took us both into a story that no one could stop even if we wanted to try; but let's be real, we never wanted to try stopping it; the chemistry between Juliet and Edmund was so absolutely tangible that even though it was a pairing brought out of nowhere suddenly it felt like it could be no other way, and our obsession with them began. So thank you, Lloyd, for saying yes that one time, for bringing Narnia back into my life, and for allowing this whole story to even take wing, whether this gets into your head and makes your ego even bigger or not, you're amazing, ily.

Secondly, I would like to thank Jas, the wonderful, talented Jas, who truly became the person to bring plot into this story and therefore made it more than the sappy romance it would have otherwise been; having met in a network and realising we were both working on Golden Age fanfictions we spoke and realised that our stories would work well together, one thing became another and suddenly Athena Ashdown became as much part of my world as Juliet Capulet became part of hers, and before we could even know what was what, the worlds that once had been apart had become one, and no longer separated regardless of the differences of her story and mine. So thank you, you always tell me that my story would have been amazing even without the plots from yours, but I can assure you with my mind well placed that that is not the case, no politics would have taken place, no danger, no nothing other than the sadness of Juliet's pregnancy issues; trust me, your story made mine something beautiful and epic and wonderful, more so than what a simple 60 chapter fluff fest would have been, so thank you, I owe you a million, and I can't wait to start writing book two with you. 

And last but most definitely not least, I would like very much to thank every single one of you reading this right now, whether you began reading from the day I posted the very first chapter, started when I was halfway, or you are reading this even months or years after it finished publishing, you are the reason this story has gotten the love it has gotten, and I appreciate every single one of you. Thank you for loving these characters as much as Lloyd, Jas and I do, thanks for all the fanart you have made, all the graphics, thanks for taking this story in as if it were canon, you know who you are. I adore every single one of you, and I want you to know that every time I see a new graphic made by someone outside of Lloyd, Jas and I, I lose my mind so loudly my cat jumps a little bit. It's wonderful, thank you, thank you; though I began writing this story for Lloyd and me, the unexpected love it got made continuing to write it all the more fun, so its end is definitely bittersweet, but for now it  _is_  the end. I hope the story was to your liking, and I hope you follow me for book two when it does come. Thank you! And please remember to smile, even if it's just once, simply because you can. x

~Mel


End file.
